


sugar and ribbons

by stagemanager



Series: Pushing Up Daisies [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Family Feels, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Ghost Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stagemanager/pseuds/stagemanager
Summary: Connor Murphy should be dead. He isn't, for some reason, and there's a kid crying in front of him.





	1. The Tallest Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Dear Evan Hansen, any of its characters, or story. There are references to the musical, but most of the work is mine.
> 
> Italics in parentheses are flashbacks, italicized lines are thoughts

Daisy was four when they first met.

All things considered, he thinks the meeting went pretty well.

* * *

It’s poetic, he supposes, that the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is light. After all, isn’t that what you’re supposed to see when you die and go into ‘the afterlife’ or whatever? Not that he thinks he’s worthy of entering Heaven; he’s an utter disappointment who can’t do anything right. Even so, despite his confessed sins and failures, he finds himself moving slowly towards that little bit of light. 

He doesn’t care, apathetic teenager y’know? Whatever. Anything is better than the old world of anger and inadequacy and arguments and fighting that he was trapped in before. Heaven’s better than Hell, right? So he shrugs and lets himself float into the light. 

In an instant, the world becomes uncomfortably warm.

Opening his eyes, Connor Murphy steps back into the sun. 

He is immediately accosted by the melody of birdsong. A clear blue sky frames a golden morning sun. There is a gentle breeze dancing through the trees, rustling the leaves and perfuming the air with the scent of peonies. 

It is the perfect image of peace and beauty.

_ What the fuck. _

Connor both hates and loves it.

Looking around, he sees that he is standing in a clearing surrounded by trees. A giant oak—the tallest of the trees—stretches skyward a couple feet in front of him, a few butterflies flitting through its branches. It is on this plant that his gaze focuses, a twisting, expanding sculpture of forest green and sepia. 

The thought of climbing up the tree crosses his mind. He doesn’t know where he is; he’s pretty sure that Heaven, Hell,  _ whatever _ , isn’t supposed to look like this. At least if he gets a view from up top he’ll be able to get a rough idea of where—or what—this place is. With a rudimentary plan now in place, he begins walking towards the tree.

A couple steps in, he hears someone crying.

He hesitates. 

 

( _ It seemed like she only had two emotions now when it came to him: sadness or frustration. While her anger was irritating and seemed to become more common with every passing day, it was her tears that tore at the tiny heart he had left. _ )

 

Slowly, Connor steps forward towards the oak tree. And looks.

Curled into a ball under the branches is a small, whimpering child. Her tiny body is shaking, and her head is buried into her knees. 

“Hey,” he calls out, without thinking about it.

Immediately, the little girl flinches. A reasonable reaction, Connor admits, hoping to justify another one of his rash, careless decisions. Still, he can’t prevent the tiny shred of guilt that claws its way into his being when the kid looks up, tears in her eyes, towards the source of the noise. 

_ Shit. Uh... _

“Sorry. I didn’t... uh... mean to scare you. Are you, uh… okay?”

_ She’s scared of me.  _

He starts backing away from the child, hands up.

_ I scared a little kid. Oh god, she’s probably gonna run away ‘cause I’m a fucking psycho. I can’t do anything right, oh god, I— _

“Who are you?”

His legs stop. “... _ What? _ ”

Glancing down, he sees the child looking directly at him. Though her face is tinted red and tears still leak from her stormy-blue eyes, her focus is solely on him. She is still looking at him despite her fear, a little girl staring into the eyes of monster.

She is either the dumbest or nicest kid he’s ever met.

“Connor,” he utters, a little too quietly. Do it again. “My name is  _ Connor _ ,” he states, pronouncing each syllable as if it is a dandelion puff. Good. Who cares what his name is? “What’s yours?” 

“Daisy,” she answers.

“That’s a nice name.”

A beat passes by. 

“So…” Connor begins. “Uh…” Floundering, he stares at the girl, taking the chance to actually examine her appearance. Her umber hair is tied into two messy pigtails, as if the person tying them has no idea how to do hair. She is wearing a striped white shirt and red shorts. “Where are—”

“Are you scared?” she queries suddenly.

“No!” he responds, more forcefully than any normal person would. A line has been crossed. Don’t cross it again. He steps towards the girl, paranoia and rage beginning to fester below the surface. “What makes you think  _ that _ ?” he questions, darkness creeping into his voice.

 

( _ He sees all of it. Every hushed word, every fearful gaze, every twitch that they make when have to communicate with him. They’re all out to get him, and they have to be fucking crazy to think that he’s not going to defend himself. _ )

 

“Because I’m scared too.” The child says, and Connor freezes.

“Daddy says that it’s okay to be scared. He says that brave people over… over…” she stumbles, picking at the hem of her shirt. “ _ Overcome _ their fear. And Daddy’s the bravest person I know. He’s even braver than Spider-Man.”

His anger flickers out like a dying flame. The entire world seems to blur, and he wonders if this is his own personal hell. This little child is so utterly innocent that he feels like he’s looking through a distorted window. He hasn’t had an interaction with a person so pure—hell, with  _ other people _ in general—that everything starts to shatter. This can’t be real. How can this be real, he’s fucking dead, and this little kid is already smarter than he could ever be. Her life is already better. Her father actually fucking understands and gives her good advice and cares about her, and Connor’s grasping at reality because what the fuck are good parents and who the fuck actually has a good relationship with their parents and why the fuck is he so pathetic that this is such a foreign fucking concept to him? 

“Mr. Connor?” A tiny voice calls out, and the world sharpens. He blinks. The girl— _ Daisy _ —is on her feet, her hand on his leg, and he immediately notices how incredibly small she is compared to him.

“Just Connor is fine.” He answers, sighing silently. He realizes he should apologize. “Sorry for uh, earlier.”

“It’s okay.” She wraps her arms around his legs because he’s six feet tall and doesn’t know how to deal with human contact. “I’m sorry too.”

They stand like together for what seems like forever. Connor remains completely still, not wanting to move. He’s terrified that this moment will end, and she’ll realize what a freak he is. Just like everybody else.

In his silent panic, he doesn’t notice the man walking up behind him. He doesn’t want to.

“ _ DAISY!? _ ”

At the sound of that voice, Daisy immediately breaks contact with Connor and runs towards the source of the noise, a giant smile on her face. 

“Daddy!”

He tries his best to smother the fury and fear that ignites inside of him. 

The man hoists Daisy into his arms, tears in his blue eyes. Connor instantly hates him.

“You had me so worried! I thought you were…” the man hesitates, voice breaking and his breathing uneven. It sounds like he has been running a marathon. “ _ I can’t lose you, Daisy _ . Promise me that you will never, _ ever _ , do that again!”

There are tears in Daisy’s eyes as well. “I promise, Daddy! And I’m sorry too.” 

The two of them, father and daughter embrace, and Connor watches through a window. He’s drifting again. He’s losing his grip on reality because a dad gave his kid a fucking  _ hug _ .

“I made a new friend today, Daddy.” Daisy declares, pure joy and accomplishment coloring her voice as she sits in her father’s arms. Connor feels something warm and tight flutter in his chest.

“Really?” her dad asks. Connor hears the tiniest bit of panic in his voice. “What’s their name?”

“Connor,” she announces proudly. She’s actually  _ proud _ to know Connor Murphy, the school psychopath and freak? 

Her father’s reaction, on the other hand, is more of what he’s come to expect.

“ _ C-Connor? _ ” he repeats, paling slightly. “His name is…  _ Connor? _ ” Is his reputation so bad that even adults are afraid of him? 

_ You already know the answer to that, don’t you? _

“Yeah! He has brown hair just like me!”

“Where did you  _ meet _ Connor, sprout?” Her dad questions quickly. Anxiously. He’d be a terrible liar, Connor thinks.

“Here in the park.” She untangles her arm and points to Connor. “He’s over there.”

Her father blinks. A beat. “Where, sunflower? I don’t see anyone else here but us.”


	2. Take Your Hand

He’s a ghost now.

Awesome, _wow_.

He’s such a failure, he can’t even take his own life correctly.

So instead of finally escaping from this awful world, he’s condemned to haunt this forest or whatever the fuck destiny has bound him forever. Fuck.

Still, despite his anger, he can’t shake the thought nagging at his mind.

How was Daisy able to see and touch him?

* * *

Ghosts don’t sleep. They’re dead, so the needs and necessities of living are no longer a concern to them. Shouldn’t need to worry about them. At least, that’s what Connor believes. But when he opens his eyes and light floods his vision, he feels like he needs another seven hours on that nap.

 

( _“I already said I’d go tomorrow.”_ )

 

Groaning, he forces his eyes to focus. He’s expecting to be accosted by leaves and birdsong and peonies. Not a bad thing to have to wake up to everyday for the rest of eternity, he supposes.

Instead, he is confronted by a lovely pale pink fabric.

_...The fuck?_

If he wasn’t already dead, he’d think he was high. Can ghosts get high?

Putting the thought aside, he glances around and quickly realizes that he’s on a _bed_. In a _bedroom_. In a _girl’s_ bedroom and guessing by the bright flowers and crayon drawings on the walls, a _young_ _girl’s_ bedroom.

He’s a pedophile now, great. Another wonderful personality quirk to add. Shit.

He moves to leave immediately. Guilt and disgust dig into his being. He may be “volatile” and completely crazy, but he is _NOT_ going to violate a child in this way. Shit. How did he get in here, anyway? It doesn’t matter. Fuck. Get out.

He tries to open the windows, but his hands slip through the locks. Ghost. Right. Just phase through it.

Drawing in a breath—why is he breathing, he’s a _ghost_ —he places his hand against the window.

It passes through unhindered.

Nothing to it, right?

He runs through the wall, indifferent as he phases through. The apathetic part of his mind tells him to stop running after he makes it out of the house, but his guilt motivates his feet to keep moving. Why is he running? He’s already out. The world rushes by as he runs, trees and buildings becoming blurs of color. He doesn’t want to be in that house, in that room, where she plays and laughs and he’s not allowed. Everything goes out of focus. The more he runs, the more reality cracks around him. _What’s happening? Where is he? What’s—_

The ground caves in under him. He falls in, gray fading into darkness.

 

( _“That is just the saddest fucking thing I have ever heard. Oh my god.”_ )

 

“Connor?”

He comes back to his senses to see familiar pale pink bed sheets. Looking around, he notices the same drawings and flowers from earlier. The sun peeks through a tree outside a window.

“Is this a fucking joke?” He blurts out, sitting up on the bed. “Is my entire existence some kind of sick fucking joke now? How the hell did I get back here?” He’s shouting now, standing on the tiny twin bed. Vaguely he worries that someone will hear him, but he remembers that he’s a _ghost_ and nothing makes any fucking sense anymore.

“Please don’t use those words,” a familiar voice says.

_What?_

On the floor next to the bed is Daisy. A red stuffed fox is tucked into her arms, and her eyes are wide. “Daddy says those are bad words.” She whispers, shuffling.

Immediately, details link together in his mind. The flowers. Her name. How long has it been? _Shhh…_ uh…

“Hello,” he finally utters.

_Shoot._

“Hi,” Daisy answers, getting to her feet. “I’m sorry that Daddy didn’t notice you. Sometimes he gets confused about things. Like Mommy does.”

He knows the real reason why her father didn’t notice him. But he doesn’t want to scare her away by telling her the truth. That he’s dead and she’s crazy and can see ghosts. He still doesn’t know why she can see and touch him when others can’t.

“Wanna play with me?” Daisy asks suddenly. She holds out a toy airplane in her right hand, its red paint scratched and nicked. “Rose and I are playing airplane until Nana is done with the dishes.”

 

( _The plane was his favorite toy. Every week, they would go to they would all have a picnic at the orchard and him and Zoe would fly the plane. Until Dad’s “emergency landing” flew it into the creek and broke it. He remembers curling his hands into fists, staring at the broken toy as angry tears form in his eyes._ )

 

Connor stares at the child’s outstretched arm and warm smile, frozen by the sheer kindness of it all. The gesture is so simple but he hasn’t received something so innocent and sweet in such a long time that he doesn’t know what to say. Someone was reaching out to him, being _nice_ to him not out of pity or obligation, and the genuineness of it all twists something inside of him. “Sure,” he replies after a beat, reaching to accept the plane. It’s not like he has better to do—or _lose_ , he adds. So he takes the toy plane and walks around the room, and Daisy hoists the stuffed fox above her head and does her best airplane noises.

 

( _He usually flew the plane. It was his toy. But she didn't really mind and was happy to just watch and chase the shiny airplane across the field, cheering his name as she ran._ )

 

There’s a pain in his chest, right where he supposes his heart would be. He shoves the memory into its box where it belongs. Back in the past where laughter and children and apples should go.

Daisy giggles aloud, and a shred of happiness burrows its way in. He’s screwed up so many times already with this kid, but now he’s actually doing something _good_ . _Kind_ . The feeling warms his core and touches a memory and emotion that has long been forgotten and broken. He realizes that he is becoming attached to this kid now. Shit. Damn kid, making him actually feel _joy_ for once. _Fuck_.

It doesn’t dawn on him until fifteen minutes later that he’s actually _holding_ something.

_How the…?_

Immediately, the plane falls through his hands.

An expletive escapes his lips before he can stop it. Daisy flinches.

“Sorry.” He moves to pick up the plane, but his hands pass through.

_The hell? Why can’t I pick it up anymore?_

He’s still grasping at the toy, fumbling through empty air, when the door opens. A woman stands in the doorway, gray strands cutting through her blonde hair. She is wearing a pair of jeans and a white blouse.

Daisy runs up into the woman’s open arms. “Nana!” she exclaims.

Nana laughs, a joyful, pleasant sound that irritates Connor. Why is Daisy’s family so fucking cheerful and happy? “Hello, little lady!” She says in that cloying sweet tone that hurts Connor’s ears. “I think we should do something special today! Why don’t we go to the zoo? Isn’t that exciting?”

“Yeah!” Daisy chirps. She wiggles out of her grandmother’s arms to grab her shoes, little white sneakers with pink velcro straps. “Can Rose come too?” she asks, fumbling to get on her left sneaker. “She’s never been to the zoo.”

“Well then we should fix that, shouldn’t we?” Nana grins, kneeling down to help her granddaughter. Done. The two family members stand up.

“And can my friend Connor come too?” Daisy adds innocently.

Something falters in Nana’s eyes. Familiar. “Connor?” she parrots, smile dropping.

“Yeah, he’s sitting on my bed. Can he come please?”

A small, tight smile works its way onto Nana’s face, and Connor finally recognizes that look. It is the look of a parent who has resigned herself to the faults of her child. How they are out of her control, and there’s nothing she can do. How her child is fated to come up short, and she must find joy in the most meager accomplishments to keep going.

It is a look that Connor knows all too well.

The bed is empty. Just a sad invention created by a child’s imagination.

He should be used to the familiar tightness in his chest when she doesn’t see him. Shouldn’t feel it. He’s a ghost, he doesn’t have a heart, _everything is perfectly fine_.

The woman says something, but the words fly through him. Daisy beams, and _isn’t that fucking adorable?_ And then she reaches up to take his hand.

She shivers when her hand meets empty air.

_Oh no._

“Connor? Don’t cha wanna come with me?” Daisy whispers, lowering her hand like it has been burned. Her dejection is so heartbreakingly _familiar_ that something behind the vault shifts and a light flickers on.

 

( _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m a terrible brother, don’t shut me out, oh god._ )

 

“ _Yes_ ,” he utters, and he squeezes the little girl’s hand.

“ _Follow me_ ,” someone says, and Connor runs after.

* * *

 He doesn’t remember the last time he went to the zoo. While the answers lay right in front of him, he doesn’t want to open the vault.

It’s not the kind of pain that Connor Murphy wants to feel.

So he floats casually after Daisy and her grandmother, listening as the little girl prattles on about animals and plants. She knows a lot about biology, he notes. Good for you. He, personally, sucked at it. Though she chatters on quickly, stumbling over big words, her grandmother listens with genuine interest and care.

“Really? Their wingspan can be over ten feet wide? That’s amazing!”

He wants to be angry at them, but his sadness and envy cools his temper. Screw their perfect family.

The relaxed environment and the car ride to the zoo give Connor an open opportunity to explore his new abilities and setting. The first thing he discovers is that he’s in Maryland. Close enough to the city that Daisy’s grandmother has taken her to the Maryland Zoo in Baltimore. _Sundays at the_ _zoo_. Not too far away, he notes with disgust, to where he once lived. God, he hopes he doesn’t have a terrible family reunion. Not that they would see him. If he had become a ghost farther in the future he wouldn’t worry, but a swift glance at a calendar in Daisy’s room reveals that it has been less than a decade since he died.

_Wonder what’s happened in that time?_

After lagging behind the girl and her grandmother several times, Connor realizes that he is bound to Daisy. If he veers far enough from his living anchor, he will teleport back to her. His earlier blackouts were the result of him getting way too far away. Connor finds that he does not mind this new restriction on his movement. It’s not like he has anything planned to do. Besides, he reasons, she’s the only one who can see and hear him, and as it turns out, he has some cool ghost powers now. After watching a group of penguins for too long and popping back behind Daisy not quite _on_ the stairs, he discovers he can levitate—he would call it flight, but he’s still figuring it out. So that’s cool. Helpful. Can he levitate other objects? Anyways.

The one thing he still doesn’t understand is his intangibility. Sometimes he’ll be able to touch something, and other times he’ll go right through it. It’s slightly annoying if you think about it. Connor finds that if he focuses on the sensation of actually ‘touching an object’—solidity and structure and something beneath his fingers—he’s more likely to succeed. But it’s still hit or miss sometimes. He recalls with some unease a moment not too long ago when he accidently got stuck halfway through a wall. _That_ was _fun_.

Daisy’s face lights up next to him as she observes an otter playing with a red ball behind the glass. Though there’s a big grin on her face, they’ve been walking for a while, and Connor can see fatigue setting in. Weary-eyed, she starts to lean against his leg for support.

There is an ugly smack as Daisy hits the pavement.

Everything stops.

Swift as lightning, Nana reaches for her little girl and inspects her for any injuries before Connor can even move. “Daisy!” she shouts, rushing through him. He doesn't feel anything. It’s fine, she’s fine. Nothing to worry about. This is normal. This is his fault. She knows what she’s doing. “Are you okay!?”

He doesn’t remember when he started backing away from them. He’s moving away when his vision begins to blur and he realizes that he’s straining at the end of his leash. Don’t move. There are a million words of comfort whirling through his mind, but none of them escape his lips. Daisy is crying because of him. She hates him. Just when he thinks he’s actually done something right, he’s fucked up again. Oh god.

“Yeah.” Daisy answers, and Connor knows that’s bullshit.

“How are you feeling? Do we need to take a break? Or go home?”

There is a red cut on Daisy’s tiny leg. “No. I’m okay.” _Liar_. “Me, Rose, and Connor wanna explore some more.”

_Why the hell are you defending me, it’s my fault you fell, I hurt you._

“He’s sad, so he went away. If we stay at the zoo, he’ll come back.” Daisy finishes. She rises to her feet, only a little unsteady.

Her grandmother stares at her for a second. And blinks. A tiny smile, and then she hands the child her stuffed fox. “Okay,” she finally says. “But let me put a band-aid on that cut first so it can get better.”

_Why do I have to fuck up everything?_

* * *

 For the next two days, he gives Daisy a wide berth. He wants to get away from her, wants her to stop looking for him, but he _can’t_ so he hides behind walls and doors and in the shadows of her innocent world. He floats through the walls of the giant house and silently watches as a family laughs and plays and eats dinner together. He ignores the sadness and stolen glances Daisy makes in his direction.

He feels so small.

* * *

 It’s Wednesday morning. Connor floats above a pink bed, staring at a ceiling covered with glow stars. The sunlight stealing through the window leaves shadows on the dark bedroom, and he closes his eyes, thinking of books and music and things that make sense. He doesn’t want to be in this room, but she’s in the hall and he would feel worse going into her father’s room.

There is a knock on the door. Immediately, he freezes. Daisy stands in the too large doorway.

Slowly, Connor lowers himself to the ground. Even though she has seen him floating before, he feels like his feet should be on the floor. _Like a normal person._

“Hi,” she whispers, after a century.

“Hi,” he replies, and _isn’t this nice?_ He doesn’t want to do this.

“I’m not mad at you.” Daisy says.

He can think of a million reasons to be mad. It’s easy. They’re all stacked up like bricks in a wall that he struggles to climb over every day. He should yell at her, tell her she’s an idiot if she thinks he’s worth being friends with, but he knows that will make him seem like more of a monster than he already is. And she knows all of this already.

He draws in a breath. “I don’t want you to be mad,” he whispers. “And I’m sorry.”

“It was an accident.” Daisy says, stepping towards him, her little striped socks soundless on the rug. No, it wasn’t. Her eyes are round and anxious, looking at him as if this is the first time they’ve met, and she’s biting at her lip. “Can we… Can we start over?” she requests in a tiny voice. A little wisp of hope. He can’t smother it out.

“Yes,” Connor responds, and he kneels down to her level. He reaches out an opaque hand to the little girl. “Hello,” he introduces, the barest ember of hope in his voice. “My name is Connor.”

The child’s expression suddenly brightens, and she places her tiny hand into his much larger one. “Hello!” she chirps. A little princess. “I’m Denise!”

“Denise? So Daisy is just a nickname?”

“Yup!”

“Who gave it to you?”

“My daddy!”

Daisy grins, so bright and full of pride, that Connor can’t help but smile. A real, authentic smile, small as it may be. God. He’s getting high off her light. “Well, your daddy must like flowers then.”

“Uh huh!” She replies, nodding her head. “Do you wanna play airplane with me?”

“Of course,” he answers without hesitation. He takes the offered red plane into his hand and stands up. Daisy grabs a stuffed toy fox and a doll in green and yellow, and darts to the other side of the room.

“Look, Rose! Look, Mr. Prince! The plane is coming!”

They play together until dinnertime, and Connor does not drop the airplane at all.


	3. How to Start

They create a schedule from then on. The routine and repetition gives him a sense of stability in his incorporeal existence.

In the morning, Daisy’s voice shakes him awake. He hates mornings—night has always been his preferred time of day—but the child’s optimism is infectious, and he drags himself out of the sleeping world.

The rare times that he has woken up early he doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so tiny jump that high.

After breakfast, Daisy goes to her room to play with her toys. Connor usually joins her. Her father is a park ranger caught in the annual summertime frenzy, and he works six, sometimes seven, long days a week. Even so, every workday before sunrise, he slips into Daisy’s room and presses a kiss to her head before heading off to work. He’s _trying_. There are days when, after he’s disappeared down the hallway, little Daisy will peek through the door before going back to sleep.

Each time, Connor makes sure to drift down beside the bed after she nestles back under the blankets. He finds Daisy’s toy fox and tucks it in beside her. He doesn’t think about how _familiar_ the motion is.

On days when her grandmother is free, she and Daisy will do something special together. Sometimes they bake, sometimes they play board games, sometimes they garden, sometimes they watch a movie.

Sometimes they go to the park and Connor feels something uncomfortable flare inside him.

Daisy’s babysitter doesn’t take her out to places, but she likes Michael regardless, and Connor admits that he isn’t the worst person he’s met.

Lunch passes, and Daisy curls into bed for her afternoon nap. The two hours of silence and quiet give Connor the opportunity to practice his powers, and wander around the house. He sits on the roof and listens to the birds, watching as people pass by on the sidewalk in front of him. Connor discovers that he can perfectly balance on anything, including railings and the backs of chairs. With his floating powers and weightlessness, he’s basically Spider-Man at this point.

There are three more hours to kill before Nana comes home and then it’s time for dinner. Connor quickly discovers that Daisy loves to draw, and so they usually do that after she wakes up. Daisy typically draws flowers or her family, and Connor sets the pictures aside for her grandmother and father to see.

One day, as he’s collecting the day’s artwork, he finds a portrait that causes his breath to hitch. The artist, noticing his sudden pause, walks over to him, standing on her tiptoes to see.

“I made that one for you, Connor! Do you like it?”

His likeness is a black and brown blob of a person next to a yellow triangle and circle. Daisy. There are black flecks around his image’s hands that he realizes are supposed to be black nail polish.

“ _I love it_ ,” he declares. “Thank you.”

The smile that illuminates Daisy’s expression lights the rest of his afternoon.

In the evening after dinner, Daisy helps clean up the table. Though she’s young and the glass plates and silverware are too cumbersome for her, she stands on her Ninja Turtles step stool and puts away the placemats, happy to be helping in her own little way. Sometimes Daisy’s father is able to make it home for dinner, and the three sit around the table and just talk like families should.

Connor really wants to hate them in those moments.

Bedtime seems to come too early each night, but Connor recognizes that Daisy is four and needs normal sleep cycles. Her father or grandmother will come into her room, tuck her into bed, and sing a song to carry the little girl off to dreamland. Then, dad or grandma will press a kiss to her head and slip out the door.

Connor watches the interaction from down the hall. Every night, his chest feels tight.

* * *

“Do you have nice parents?” Daisy asks innocently one day, a month after the two of them have met. She reaches for a blue crayon.

The pencil falls through Connor’s hand. Shit. He picks it up. What is he supposed to say to her? That his parents hated him, and he hated them too? “They were okay,” he replies, a little too quickly. Fuck. “Not perfect.” What is he saying?

 

( _They were broken, all of them. Each in their own ugly way. But he remembers a time when things weren’t like this and can’t help but feel like he’s the one who caused the family to shatter._ )

 

“Oh,” she says. _Oh_. “Does your mommy live with you?”

“Yes,” he answers. Not anymore though. But now he knows why Daisy is asking him these questions.

“My mommy is busy.” Daisy begins, and Connor wonders what sort of horrible thing that lie is supposed to cover. Her family’s probably still better than his though. “She has to live somewhere else because of her job.” Daisy puts the blue crayon down and switches to a violet one. “Daddy says she still loves us even though she’s far away.”

Connor’s vision reddens. What the hell? Who the fuck would leave such a wonderful kid? This kid is the kindest, most perfect child you could ever want, and her mother fucking leaves her? You don’t _abandon_ kids like _her_!

“Connor?”

Breathe in. Focus. Daisy. _Okay._

“Sorry. I just zoned out a little there.”

“It’s okay.” Daisy starts adding stars to her picture.

“So…” he starts, resuming his own sketching. “What are you drawing now?”

“A pine tree.”

“That’s cool.” Why is she adding stars?

The sound of crayons scratching and the shower down the hall fills the room for a full two minutes. It is deafening.

“Who are you drawing a picture of?” Daisy questions, halting progress on her own drawing to look at his.

“Oh, it’s…” He pauses, staring at his detailed linework. Soft, delicate lines that weave together to form a beautiful image. Light indigo streaks cascade down the page. The subject’s smile is perfect in its subtlety. Oh, shit. How could he have gotten this far without realizing what he’s drawn? More importantly, _why?_ “It’s… _uh…_ my sister.” Connor says. Fuck. Now Daisy’s gonna ask about her.

Daisy peers at the drawing for a couple seconds. “She’s pretty,” she finally comments. Thank god. Let’s keep drawing.

They continue sketching for a few more minutes, Daisy filling in the sky around her pine tree and Connor scratching out barest hint of lines. He doesn’t feel like drawing now.

Connor is still staring at his sister’s portrait when a knock on the door startles both of them. Shit. He quickly shoves the drawing into a nearby drawer, crumpling it slightly.

The door opens, and Nana peeks through the threshold. “Hi, little lady! It’s time for dinner!”

Presented with the prospect of food, Daisy drops her crayons and bolts out the door. Her grandmother silently laughs to herself, a smile on her face. Kids. She turns to follow her granddaughter to the dining room.

“Evan!” Nana shouts down the hall. “Come and join us for dinner!”

* * *

Evan Hansen. _Dear Evan Hansen._

_What the fucking hell._

Is this what he gets for pushing and yelling at that kid? Cursed to haunt his family and watch him succeed in life? Fuck Evan, he’s a fucking freak who wrote a bunch of creepy shit about his sister and wants him look like a monster even more. Fuck Evan Hansen. Shit. Fucking _hell_.

Maybe it’s because his lens has changed, but he starts noticing things about the family that he didn’t see before.

For one, it turns out that a love of plants is a family thing. Daisy and Evan love—scratch that, they’re _obsessed with_ —trees. And flowers. And plants and forests in general. Seriously. They know more about plants than any normal person should. It explains his job and all the floral imagery and nicknames. Freaking phytophiles. Evan calls his daughter by every plant-themed name there is: sprout, seedling, tulip, lily, sunflower, rosebud. Even the kid’s nickname, Daisy, is a flower.

Nana—her name is Heidi—is a paralegal. And a very good one at that. Her phone is always ringing, and she’s always bent over her desk whenever she has free time. If it weren’t for Daisy, Connor thinks, she might be able to move higher up in the world. But she gets home promptly at five-thirty, and he notices the anxious, concerned expression on her face before Daisy comes flying out to greet her. Sometimes, when Michael is watching Daisy, Heidi will stay at work a little longer. But she always comes home to tuck Daisy into bed.

He tries not to read into how incredibly relieved Evan, and especially Heidi, are to see Daisy every day. Like they have a genuine fear that something bad will happen to her. Which _won’t_ because he’d _never_ let that happen.

Regardless, despite the plant obsessions, the long hours, and the family’s financial need—he sees the bills on the table and how some of Daisy’s clothes and toys are intended for little boys—the trio seems to be doing well. Happy and united. A little microcosm of _The Brady Bunch_. It’s nice. Why do they have their lives so together?

Evan seems to have come leaps and bounds since high school. Connor assumes. They didn’t know each other. He’s more confident and less twitchy and can actually speak in full sentences. No weird letters anywhere. Good. A success then. The sight of a former classmate each day dregs up memories and questions that Connor really doesn’t want to look into. He hated that place and everyone who was there and everything it meant. Even so, curiosity about what became of everyone else manages to worm itself into his mind.

He’s not thinking about his sister.

* * *

He attempts to ignore the discussions between the adults. He’s infringed enough on this family’s life, and he’s not so petty to eavesdrop on private conversations to get answers to his trivial, teenage queries.

But when he hears his name on an August evening after Daisy has gone to sleep, he can’t tune out the words.

People are talking about him. And he needs to know what they’re planning.

“Evan, have you mentioned anything about Connor to Daisy?”

“No.” The reply is instantaneous, a touch frantic. Worried. “Why do you ask?”

“Her imaginary friend’s name is Connor.” A beat. “And I don’t know where else she would have gotten that name.”

“M-Maybe she heard it while you were shopping. Or maybe on TV. Or in the park. It’s a common enough name.”

“ _Evan._ She drew a picture of him, and he _looks_ like Connor.”

Defensive. Hands up. Something like panic begins to set in. People fighting. Evan continues. “Well, it could be just a coincidence, I mean Michael has been wearing all black recently and you know how much Daisy likes him so…”

“Evan, you need to tell me the truth. _Please._ You can _trust_ me.”

“I didn’t _tell_ her anything, Mom! I _swear!_ I would _never_ do that to her! _I love her!_ ”

What is the hell is he freaking out about? He doesn’t want his daughter to know that he was bullied by the school psychopath who later went and took his—

_Oh._

_Oh, shit._

_Oh god, I hope they didn’t tell her._

“Oh Evan, I’m so sorry.” She’s crying. He’s crying. “Shit, I didn’t mean… Evan, I…   _I believe you._ ”

Mother and son stand there, crying in each other’s arms. The world is blurry.

“I’m so sorry, I know I lied, I’m sorry, please forgive me...”

This isn’t right. He shouldn’t have heard this. This isn’t… _He_ isn’t… _Oh god._ He’s hurt him again. _Her._ Fuck. He can’t do anything right. _Oh god._

 

( _She yells at him to not touch Evan again. The kid is anxious and already has a broken arm and “you could have made it worse!”. Fuck off, the only reason you care is because you’re worried about how this makes you look._ )

 

When Connor opens his eyes hours later, it is still dark outside. Looking down, he sees Evan placing a kiss on his daughter’s head before slipping out the door. It is silent, save for the soft rise and fall of Daisy’s chest. Connor drifts up to the roof.

Every time he thinks he’s moving forward, he ends up in the same place that he was before.

He curls into a ball and tries not to break anything else.

* * *

That morning, as the Daisy helps her grandmother spoon batter into a pan, Connor reaches behind the shelf and pulls out the drawing of his sister. 

 

( _“I’ll fucking kill you! Do you hear me!? I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”_ )   


He wants to scream. He wants to bang on the wall and rip this paper into shreds. He wants to burn it and never see her face again. He hates her. He fucking hates her.  


( _“Connor look at the toy Daddy got me! Isn’t it cool?”_ )

 

( _“Connor come play with me.”_ )

 

( _“Connor!”_ )

 

( _“Connor!”_ )

 

( _“I love you, Connor.”_ )

 

He buries the little piece of paper in his arms, pretending that Zoe still loves him and everything’s okay.

When Daisy comes back into the room, the finished portrait is nestled in a folder hidden behind the white shelf.

* * *

He can’t leave Daisy. It’s impossible. But if he’s going to be anchored to her and her family for the rest of eternity, he decides that he should try to be better.

Connor Murphy doesn’t think he deserves a second chance, but then again, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone else.


	4. Delight

It is the end of August. A time of year that he abhors for the simple reason that school begins next month. _School_. Who the hell invented public schooling? It’s a _terrible_ concept.

Being a preschooler, Daisy is actually excited to start school. Whatever. She gets to take naps every day and go to recess, so her opinion is irrelevant. And biased. Anyways.

With the peril of school looming ahead, Daisy and her grandmother head off to the stores for the obligatory school supply shopping. Daisy has worn through all her crayons and pencils over the summer—he may or may not have played a part in that—and so today’s excursion is in search of new twenty-four count crayon packs and number two pencils. Heidi better not get those fat pencils this time, they’re  _ disgusting _ .

The art and stationary section is located in the back of the store, behind the children’s clothes and kitchen supplies. As Heidi and Daisy walk past, Connor catches the little girl sneaking a glance at a black hoodie with white stars printed onto the fabric. 

Though the checkout line is a little longer than he would prefer, Daisy and Heidi happily collect their purchases and drive home. Heidi separates most of the supplies into a box that she slides under Daisy’s bed. She gives two packages, one filled with crayons and the other with pencils, to her granddaughter and tells her that she can have the rest of the supplies once the school year starts. 

He probably shouldn’t do this, but Connor sneaks another pack of crayons out of the box. Oh well. He’s basically new to this whole thing. Heidi probably won’t notice.

Besides, Daisy is adorable, and Connor thinks that level of cuteness should probably be illegal.

* * *

“ _ So _ ,” Connor begins, looking ahead. He is sitting on the floor, Daisy standing beside him. “How’s it, uh, going?”

Daisy twists another strand before clipping it into place. “It’s going good,” the little girl responds. She gathers another clump.

“Oh, okay. Just… uh… finish up soon. It’s almost time for dinner.”

“Okay. But it needs to look pretty first.” She fishes out a red flower from the bowl. “Can you hold this please?” she requests. 

Wordlessly, he complies. “Thanks,” Daisy says before returning to her work. She grabs her brush.

He stifles a sigh. And a groan. 

“Okay, it’s done!” Daisy exclaims. “Do you like it?”

Connor blinks. Why did he agree to this again?

“It’s  _ wonderful _ ,” he simply utters.

The child’s entire expression lights up. “ _ Really? _ ” she asks bashfully. He nods. Yes. “Thank you!” 

God, she’s _ adorable _ . Like a literal living cinnamon roll.

The voice of her grandmother calls from the kitchen. Dinnertime. Daisy is startled and looks at the door suddenly conflicted. She’s still holding the brush. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Nothing will happen to it. I’ll be sitting right here.”

His answer suffices, and the little girl heads down the hall. It’s Tuesday, and that means taco night. Have fun.

Three minutes after the child leaves, Connor grabs the mirror on the table. He really wishes he had a reflection right now. 

He has absolutely no idea what Daisy has done to his hair.

* * *

In the last days of summer vacation, on a cool, early September morning, Evan takes Daisy to the park.

They must have reopened this place, he thinks. He remembers this apple orchard. 

Based on her reactions, it seems that this is Daisy’s first visit here.

A crisp breeze whistles through the air, rustling green leaves and spreading the perfume of fresh apples. Somewhere, a warbler chitters a tune. Taking his daughter by the hand, Evan leads Daisy into the orchard, past the trees. Connor trails behind them.

They stop at a metal bench nestled in a small clearing. The trees in this area are smaller than the ones in the rest of the orchard, as if they were more recently planted. Evan sits, and Daisy sidles up next to him. 

The two sit there for several moments, listening to the breeze as it flows through the branches. While the beauty of the orchard is breathtaking, Daisy is still four years old and craves more engaging stimuli.

When she starts kicking her legs absentmindedly, Evan turns to her and takes her hand. There is a strange smile on his face that does not quite reach his eyes.

“What do you think of this place, Daisy?” he asks quietly. Connor floats nearby, watching silently.

Daisy stops kicking. “It’s pretty,” she answers. “They take good care of the trees.”

Evan seems to brighten a little.

“Yes, they do, rosebud. You’re very smart to notice that.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Daisy says, now grinning. Evan reaches around her in a one-armed hug. 

“Would you like to visit here again, Daisy?” he asks after a moment. His strange smile seems to falter slightly.

“Yes. We have to come back later to pick the apples. They’re too little.” 

A real smile forms on Evan’s face. His eyes are misty. “Yes, you’re right. Then I guess we have to come back then.”

Daisy throws her arms around her father in a complete hug. Evan responds to the embrace in full.

“I love you, Daisy.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

Connor smiles weakly, and hovers away to give the family their privacy. He isn’t part of this.

* * *

Evan and Daisy have lunch at home after leaving the orchard. It’s a simple, plebeian meal of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but neither of them mind. Evan cuts the crusts off Daisy’s sandwich and leaves his intact. Though they usually save ice cream for dessert after dinner, Evan takes the container out from the freezer and scoops it into two tiny glass bowls.

The ice cream is plain vanilla, but Daisy and Evan dig into it content. Wow. Leave it to Evan Hansen to actually like plain freaking vanilla. Oh wait, it’s  _ french _ vanilla. What a sophisticated man. Is he gonna introduce his kid to real ice cream flavors like rocky road and cookie dough?

Daisy finishes her ice cream quickly, and Connor finds himself genuinely surprised that she didn’t contract brain freeze at least once. Impressive. The little girl helps her father put away the plates and excuses herself to go to her room as Evan washes the dishes.

For the next hour, Daisy draws pictures of the orchard. Connor steals another pack of crayons from the box for her.

He makes his own sketch of the orchard, in pencil. Connor hides in the folder behind the white shelf, along with Daisy’s drawing and his picture of Zoe.


	5. Flying Blind

Given Evan and Daisy’s love of vegetation, it comes as no surprise to Connor that the family’s residence possesses a well-kept backyard and front lawn. Running along the home’s perimeter are peonies, black-eyed Susans, hydrangeas, and asclepias—or as people other than Evan and Daisy say, milkweed. Perfectly pruned little shrubs line the front walkway, and a simple wooden swing hangs from an apple tree in the backyard.

All in all, it’s a very nice setup, Connor thinks. There is a perfect amount of foliage: the landscape is not filled to over-extravagance, and the vegetation is tastefully placed to maximize beauty and healthiness. The backyard and lawn are welcoming, inviting the family to enjoy the comfortable space.

So of course there are more plants inside the house. And of course four-year old Daisy has a lucky bamboo plant on her windowsill, and Evan treehugger Hansen has flower-filled window boxes and a fucking indoor herb garden.

He’s kind of glad that Heidi isn’t obsessed with plants like the rest of her family.

If it was legal, Connor is one hundred percent sure that Evan would marry a tree.

* * *

It is a Monday morning. The sun is creeping over the horizon, the first inklings of activity starting to make them themselves known. The introductory notes of nature’s opening number begin to play, and her initial actors are moving into place. A pleasant, warm breeze glides across the the land, not a cloud in the sky.

It is the _perfect_ morning to sleep in.

“Connor! Connor, hey Connor, guess what today is!?”

Or at least it would be, if it weren’t for one minor annoyance.

“Ugh… Saturday?”

“No, silly! It’s the first day of school!”

_Oh, that._

_...Well, shit._

“Aren’t you excited?”

_Yes, I’m completely engulfed with joy and excitement._

“C’mon, wake up sleepyhead! We’re gonna be late!”

_Oh dear. How tragic._

“I know you can hear me!”

_Well yes, but I’m afraid that I am trapped in this position and thus cannot accompany you to school._

“CONNOR! Wake up!”

_Hey! Let go of me! Oh, fuck it, you win._

With a very audible groan, Connor Murphy drags himself back into the waking world.

“Alright, I’m up, I’m _up_! Can you let go of my leg now?”

Daisy obliges the request with a giant grin on her face. “Today is going to be so much fun!” she exclaims, scurrying into the hall towards the kitchen.

Connor sighs.

_That child is going to be the death of me._

* * *

Returning to school was not something Connor expected to happen after his death.

Then again, neither was being a ghost.

The car ride to the elementary school is one of pure excitement for Daisy and one of familiar anxiety for Connor. This is pre-k, elementary school. Little kids. Naps and recess and learning your ABC’s. Why is he worried, he’s shouldn’t be worried, he _isn’t_ worried.

Judging by how Evan keeps rubbing his hands on his shirt, Connor guesses that he isn’t the only one who’s anxious.

“Now Daisy, if you ever feel scared or nervous, don’t be afraid to tell Mrs. Judy, okay? I can come and take you home anytime you want.”

“I know, Daddy.” The four-year old nods. Rose is clutched in her arms.

“Okay.” Evan’s eyes dart over Daisy again. He’s knelt down outside of the classroom, eye level with his daughter. His hands are placed on her shoulders. “I packed some fruit snacks in your bag, okay? Go ahead and eat them if you get hungry.”

“Okay, Daddy.” The little girl smiles, her blue-gray eyes twinkling with excitement. Behind her, Mrs. Judy quietly points to her watch. She has been patient with the first-time dad, but he cannot let Evan stay any longer. Time to go.

With a small smile, Evan pulls Daisy into a loving hug. After a moment, he breaks the embrace, and slowly stands.

“Have a good day, my little lily,” he says softly. He’s stalling.

“I will!” Daisy answers, waving back at Evan. “Bye, Daddy!”

As Mrs. Judy ushers Daisy into the classroom, Connor remains outside. Evan is still in the hallway, still peering through the glass window in the door.

“Bye. Be sure to make lots of new friends.” Evan whispers, waving through the window. “ _Please,_ ” he prays, before finally turning away. Connor watches him walk down the hall, hunched over like a boy he remembers from high school.

 

( _“I wish that I was part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. I mean face it, would anyone notice if I just disappeared tomorrow?”_ )

 

Blinking, Connor phases into the classroom. He sees Daisy drawing a picture of an otter. There is a girl with wavy, caramel hair sitting next to her, eyeing the black marker in Daisy’s hand.

_I can’t promise you anything, Hansen. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing and that’s putting it mildly. But for your kid I’ll try my best._

Floating down, Connor politely instructs Daisy to give the marker to the curly-haired girl. Though she responds with a look of skepticism and childish selfishness, the child nevertheless complies.

* * *

The girl’s name is Anna. She is four and a half years old and likes Cinderella and coloring. Her father works as a firefighter and her mother is a nurse. She has a three-year-old brother named Mikey.

Two weeks into the school year, she and Daisy meet up at the park for a playdate. The two girls laugh and have fun playing on the swings and playground.

* * *

As part of her preschool curriculum, Daisy has a blue calendar that she is supposed to get signed by her father every day. While the assignment requires no thinking or actual effort, Connor can’t help but think that teachers are fucking cruel to start giving homework in pre-k.

“Oh no!”

“What is it?”

Daisy holds up the blue calendar and points to yesterday’s date. “Daddy forgot to sign my paper! Mrs. Judy is gonna be mad at me!” She cries, her eyes beginning to water. Damn it, Hansen. Shit, he can fix this. _Fuck, fuck, fuck…_

“Hey, _hey_! Don’t cry!” Quickly checking to see that nobody is looking, Connor snatches a pencil from the cup on the table and forges Evan’s signature. “Here, look! It’s okay now! Don’t cry!” He announces to the little girl, pointing to the now-filled square.

Daisy’s tears instantly stop. “Yay!” she cheers. The noise catches Mrs. Judy’s attention, and she alters her route to visit Daisy’s corner of the room next. When she gets there, Daisy proudly presents the completed assignment to her.

The entire incident, from Daisy’s realization to Mrs. Judy collecting the paper, probably lasted no more than three minutes, but Connor feels like three years have been shaved off his lifespan. Or death-span. Existence-span? What do you even call a ghost’s existence?

Fuck it, he’s already too stressed out. It’s too early for naptime, but Connor thinks he’s going to take an early break today.

* * *

“Want some, Nori?”

“Hmm? Oh no, I’m… _Spit that Play-Doh out right now, Denise!_ Dear _god_ , that’s _disgusting_!”

“But why? Will’s eating it and he’s cool!”

“Yeah well, he’s an idiot. He probably has herpes now.”

“What’s herpes?”

“ _Lord help me…_ ”

* * *

“So he’s a ghost?”

“No, but he can walk through walls and stuff.”

“Is he scary?”

“Nope.”

As of now, no one else aside from Daisy knows about Connor. The Connor that currently exists as a ghost tethered to a four-year-old girl. While Evan and Heidi have both frequently witnessed and heard about Daisy’s interactions with Connor, they dismiss the behavior as a child playing with her imaginary friend. Or at least they want to; every time Daisy mentions his name, Evan pales and fidgets before changing the subject. Heidi, at least, appears to be more willing to play along, occasionally asking Daisy to draw or describe her mysterious new friend despite the worried expression that always flashes on her face whenever Connor’s name is mentioned. Like there is something wrong.

The expression on Anna’s seems to signify that she agrees with the adults’ evaluation.

“I dunno… How come you can see him and I can’t?” Anna asks with an intensely stern expression that is completely inappropriate for someone wearing pigtails and a pink tutu.

“Um…” Daisy begins, suddenly at a loss for words. Neither she nor Connor has an answer to this question. His invisibility has always been an annoyance and disappointment that Daisy has reluctantly learned to live with. “Maybe because I was his friend first?” she answers, fidgeting slightly.

The answer seems to satisfy Anna, whose expression relaxes. “Oh,” the child states, ending the discussion. Thank god. An inquisitive look appears on her face. “What does he look like?”

Daisy grins. “He has black nails and clothes and has brown hair like me!”

“Is he a grown-up?” Anna inquires.

Daisy blinks. She stares at Connor.

“Nope. I’m seventeen.” He says, before adding: “Not an adult.”

_If you’re going by age at time of death._

Daisy relays the answer to Anna. “He said no. But he’s really tall.”

“I bet he’s shorter than my papa,” Anna declares, after a moment. There’s a touch of pride in her tone.

_Wow. She went there. Okay. Moving on. Uh… Daisy? Daisy? Wait, Daisy don’t start—_

“Is not!”

_Oh, no._

“Is too!”

_Oh, lord._

“Is _not_!”

_Oh, god._

“Is _too_!”

“Is _not_!”

“Is TOO!”

“Is NOT!”

“IS _TOO_!”

_Alright, fuck this, I’m outta here. Dear god, it’s like listening to cats screeching._

* * *

While he has only played a small part in the entire development, Connor can’t help but feel a sense of happiness when he looks at Daisy’s new pictures. There is a new addition to them.

On October fifth, Anna and her family come to Daisy’s birthday party. The house is full of happy children, giggling and playing and running everywhere. It’s very noisy, Connor thinks. But he’s okay with that.

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_You’re fucking welcome._

_Sincerely me, bitch._

* * *

School sucks. Even in pre-k, that’s a fact that will never change. Connor has too many negative memories of this place for his opinion to be so quickly and dramatically changed.

Still, he supposes that the image of two little girls playing princess together is enough to get him out of bed in the morning.

“Connor wake up! Anna’s waiting for us!”

_Damn kids. Why do they have to be so fucking adorable?_


	6. An Abandoned Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> Thank you for joining me on this journey. This is my first fic and I am grateful for every person who comes to this little corner of the archive.
> 
> Sincerely,  
> Me.

**I** f someone asked him to name two people who really shouldn’t get along but do, Connor would point to him and Daisy. The two of them are almost polar opposites in nature. While he is an apathetic teenager who struggles to give a shit about things, Daisy bestows her affection generously on people—and _plants_. If he is a ghost, a dark specter chained to the land of the living, he supposes that Daisy is an angel, a bright light of hope and joy.

...God, that was dramatic. Oh well. Guess that’s what he gets for reading all that Shakespeare. Anyways.

Being with Daisy has worked wonders on his mood. For the first time in years, he feels like he has some semblance of control. Stability. It’s weird. The Connor from before would have given up already. Which he actually did that’s why… Anyways. Ghost Connor feels… okay. Good. Maybe even content from time to time.

It’s still a long, uphill climb, but Connor Murphy thinks he’s getting a little better every day.

* * *

Being in pre-k causes Daisy’s drawing production to nearly double.

It’s an expected consequence, Connor reasons. Children her age are supposed to be practicing their motor skills and shit like that. Plus, it gives the kids an opportunity to exercise their creativity and imagination. So a good thing.

Still, the increased volume of papers means more mess. Evan and Heidi try to steer though it as best they can—they genuinely enjoy looking at Daisy’s art and compliment her when they can. However, despite their best efforts, confusion occasionally arises within the house.

“Daddy? Have you seen my picture of me and Anna? I need it!”

“No, tulip. But I’ll help you look for it.”

Both Evan and Heidi bring home documents from work that need to be completed. With both artwork and paperwork typically ending up on the dining table at one point or another, it is inevitable that an accidental pickup would happen.

Connor knows Evan accidentally took Daisy’s drawing. He remembers seeing it get shuffled into Evan’s stack of papers.

Hesitantly, he steps into the room. He looks around, inspecting his new surroundings.

Connor has never been in Evan’s room before. There wasn’t a reason to be. More importantly, it’s not any of his business.

The bedroom is roughly the same size as Daisy’s room. The walls are painted a soft sky blue, and the bed is covered with a red gingham. There is a small bookshelf with some books whose titles Connor recognizes. Some of them are his favorites.

Evan’s desk is meticulously organized. There is not a single object out of place, the papers organized onto a little shelf and the writing utensils corralled into a cup. An old laptop lays closed in the upper left corner. Looking over the entire setup, Connor realizes that this will not be as easy as he hoped.

_Might as well get started then…_

Connor decides to start at the top of the little paper organizer. He removes the stack of papers and begins to leaf through them. In an instant, the feeling of shame begins to fill him

_I shouldn’t be doing this. It isn’t right. But they won’t find the picture in time, Daisy’s supposed to be over there in ten minutes. This is what friends do, right?_

The stack finished, Connor places the papers back onto the shelf and removes the next group.

_Bills… Bills… Bills... Holy shit, these are all student loan bills. How much do you owe, Evan?_

His guilt now snowballing, Connor quickly reaches for the final collection of papers. As he is moving the stack, a small, blue and white brochure flutters down.

“What’s this?” Connor mutters aloud, stopping to pick up the tri-folded paper. It looks like someone made it in an hour on Microsoft Word.

He flips the brochure over.

On October thirteenth, eight days after Daisy’s fifth birthday, Connor Murphy walks into Evan Hansen’s room and discovers the Connor Project.


	7. Hope You're Proud

_“_ _E_ _verybody needs to see this.”_

_“Share it with the people you love.”_

_“The world needs to hear this.”_

_“A beautiful tribute.”_

_“I know someone who really needed to hear this today, so thank you...”_

* * *

Winter approaches, and with it, the ice and cold. A frigid wind begins to echo across the land, the first signs of frost and snow making themselves known. The earth is deafeningly silent.

It’s colder than it should be this time of year.

* * *

Into the darkness and shadows, he screams.

But the boy whose name he curses does not say anything, simply quivering as a forgotten memory fails to push him to the ground.

Behind him, he hears the quick footsteps of a tiny girl, running out of the room. Tears. Somewhere, a woman shivers. Doors slam shut, and vases fall off the shelves. It’s cold.

He keeps screaming.

* * *

_“Sending prayers from Michigan.”_

_“Vermont.”_

_“Tampa.”_

_“Sacramento.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_“Thank you, Evan Hansen.”_

* * *

Because of his anchor, he is dragged to school along with the child.

Every day he strains against the chain, trying to run away.

When he opens his eyes after blacking out, he roars and pulls at his shackles again.

The child cries.

* * *

“A student group dedicated to keeping his memory alive, to showing that _everybody should matter_.”

_“_ Because _no one deserves to disappear.”_

_Fuck you, you selfish bastard! You’re a freak, taking advantage of someone who’s fucking dead!_

_What if that’s what I actually wanted!? Did you ever stop and think that the reason why I fucking killed myself is because I wanted to disappear!? That I wasn’t fucking ‘okay’!? What gives you the fucking right to decide what I felt!?_

_I hope you’re happy, you lying son of a bitch. With your stupid project and stupid emails and stupid orchard and stupid fucking friendship. I hope you got everything you everything you ever fucking wanted!_

_Because of you, I’m even more forgotten that I would have ever been! Nobody remembers the real me anyone! The fucked up me who attacked people and was so broken that there was nothing left to save! The me who ignored love and threw away everything I was given! When people hear my name, they think of some noble kid who fought tooth and nail in battle that he didn’t win. They think of someone with friends and a family that tried so hard to save him. They think of someone worth loving._

_The lie gives them hope._

_And they’re happy._

* * *

_“I never met you, Connor, but coming on here, reading everyone’s posts… It’s so easy to feel alone, but Evan is exactly right—we’re not alone, none of us.”_

He’s cold.


	8. Broken Parts

As the holidays draw near, twinkling lights and peppermint begin to cover the land. In every car and shop, the sound of carols and bells dances out of speakers, charming people to join the festive mood.

The family ventures out to join the rest of society in the commercial Christmas craze. There are gifts and cards to be purchased, dinners and desserts to prepare. As they stroll through the store, past the clothes and silverware, he sees the black hoodie still sitting on the rack.

The little girl keeps on walking, her eyes shadowed and looking away.

It’s cold.

Connor doesn’t think he could feel anymore alone. More isolated. But he should stop hoping for things anymore.

Nothing good ever happens to him. He doesn’t deserve it.

* * *

He’s never wanted to disappear more. The world is better without him, not knowing him. But sometimes he sees two children playing and a family watching a movie together and he wishes he could be somebody worth remembering.

He wants to be angry. Everything is wrong and yet somehow it’s _right_ and he hates it for being that way. He’s furious, screaming at the world and attacking things that _should not be broken_. But most of all, he is sad and alone and unsure of what to do.

He wants to be somebody who matters. Someone who is deserving of all the affection and praise that the world gives a lie.

_But how do you fix this many broken pieces?_

* * *

Connor stays up late every night, wandering through a house that feels too big.

He does not want to rest. Every time he closes his eyes, his memories and demons pounce upon his mind. He is a ghost now, and sleep is simply a desire, a remnant of a once living person who no one remembers. Who nobody wants to remember.

Sleep will not cure his weariness.

The clock reads midnight as he drifts through the empty halls. Far away, he hears a bed creak and tremble.

As he passes the room with flowers on the walls, he hears her sobbing.

In an instant, his hand is on the door, the tips of his fingers already phasing through. She’s upset, she’s afraid, she’s having a nightmare, _she needs—_

_No._

_No, she doesn’t._

Quietly, he removes his hand from the door. He phases into the bedroom down the hall, the one with blue walls and stacks of paper, and tugs at the gingham blanket.

The man wakes up immediately, his eyes darting around to see nothing. The sound of a child crying reaches his ears, and he rushes out of bed.

Connor watches from the doorway as a father comforts his little girl. His chest tight, he turns and floats down the hallway.

Being there would only make things worse.

He hopes that the nightmare is not about him.

* * *

It is a Monday morning. A school day. The little girl is sitting next to a curly-haired girl, and they are each coloring a rainbow. A mnemonic and example on the board guides the children on what colors to use.

Roy G Biv.

The little girl places a yellow crayon on the desk. She’s looking for the next color.

_Roy G Biv._

Wordlessly, Connor rolls the green crayon to her. The child blinks and stares at the piece of wax as if it is poison, before silently picking it up.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she whispers, sparing him a glance. She returns to her coloring.

It is nothing, only the barest acknowledgement of his presence. But it is the first time Daisy has looked at him with something other than fear in a long time.

“ _You’re welcome_ ,” Connor answers softly, praying to not throw this away too.

* * *

An icy sleet fails from a gray, overcast sky. Connor thinks it is an apt reflection of the atmosphere inside the house.

A virus has recently infiltrated the classroom, and Daisy is its most recent victim. While her fever has subsided and she has essentially recovered, her guardians are hesitant to let her return to school. So instead of running around with her friends, the young girl is confined to the house. Despite the the many toys and movies and crayons all around her, Daisy is bored out of her mind. While Michael was here earlier and painted Daisy’s nails—to the child’s delight and Connor’s envy—he is gone, leaving Daisy alone in her bedroom as her grandmother talks on the phone.

In instances like this, Connor normally floats into her room, and the two play a game or sing along to her new karaoke machine.

But nothing has been normal since he found that tiny piece of paper. A terrible mistake.

It is past noon, and Daisy is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. She is old enough to no longer need naps, but she still burrows under the sheets regardless. The repetitive action seems to bring her a sense of ease and comfort. Like everything is okay and her family isn’t being haunted by a shadowy demon.

He’s hurt her so much. So much that he doesn’t expect her to ever forgive him.

But she spoke to him— _once_ —and the little bit of light that kindles inside of him means that he must _try_.

“I’m sorry,” Connor begins, floating in the doorway of Daisy’s room. He reminds himself to stand on the ground. Sorry for what? “I’m sorry that I yelled at your dad and made the house a terrible place to be. I’m sorry that I neglected you and pushed you away. And I’m sorry that I scared you.”

The child turns to look at him, unmoved. Her face is shadowed. _Monster_ , her eyes say.

Connor feels a familiar pain twist inside of him. He’s starting to fall again. _No no no no no…_

He forces himself to seize a handhold and drag himself up.

_Do NOT fuck this up. Do NOT throw this away._

“I know you hate me and never want to see me again.” _I would_ , he thinks. “I’ve messed up so much. I hurt your family, and most of all, _you_.” There is a deafening silence before he continues. “I know I can’t take back anything I’ve done. And I’m really sorry.”

The girl rolls over, putting her back to the door. She’s through with him. But still that little flicker of hope burns, and he keeps talking.

“ _Daisy,_ ” he says. It is the first time that he has uttered her name in weeks. He sucks in a breath. “I’m a _monster_ , and no matter how hard I try, I’m going to screw up sometimes. I’m not going to hide that. But even a monster can do something good once in a while. Just… _remember that. Please._ ”

* * *

Monday morning again. The family is in the kitchen, eating breakfast.

With nothing to do, Connor lifts himself off the floor and does a flip in the air. A great deal of his time lately has been filled with nothing but these pointless motions: floating around doing absolutely nothing. At the very least, the activity gives him something to do besides sit in a corner; he does enough of that whenever is he has to share the same space as Daisy, no need to constantly remind her of his _not normal_ existence.

His senses dulled, he does not notice the person behind him until a voice pierces through the fog.

“Hello.”

Connor flinches. His head whips around to look at the speaker. _Daisy._

“Hello,” he responds, after a moment. The realization that he is still hovering two feet off the ground finally registers in his mind, and he instantly drops to the floor. A string of profanities rushes through his mind, but the words carry no weight.

Daisy is staring at him, _looking_ at him. Her expression is unknown, indiscernible, and he _knows_ that he’s screwed up again, he’s fucked up, she _hates_ him, _oh god—_

“We’re gonna be late to school.” The child declares, before ducking into the bathroom.

_...What?_

Reality stills.

_There’s no way… There can’t be… She can’t be…_

But as Connor Murphy stands in the hallway, trying to understand six little words, something clicks in his mind.

“ _We’re gonna to be late to school._ ”

_We’re._

_She said “We’re”._

_...Oh god._

* * *

It’s not the same, at first. He doesn’t get his hopes up that it will ever be.

Even so, when she finally says his name and adds him back to her drawings, Connor thinks that he’s okay with that. With this.

He’s happy.

But there is still one more apology left to give.

* * *

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Apologizing to Daisy was a hundred times easier than this. But he needs to do it if he ever wants to return to some semblance of normal.

_Normal. Since when has my life ever been normal?_

The man doesn’t notice him. Not like he ever wanted to. Connor knows that he wasn’t— _isn’t_ —the kind of person people usually want to connect with. Their past interactions have never ended well.

_Don’t think about that. Focus._

“So I know that I’ve been treating you and your family pretty shitty lately...” Connor begins. No reaction. Keep going. “I’m really sorry about that. I was just… so _angry_ , and you guys happened to be in my vicinity, so I took it out on you. Again, I’m really sorry about that.”

The man continues typing on his laptop, the little clicks echoing through the room. Connor blinks. And then his sight reddens.

“You know what? _Fuck you, Hansen_ . I’m standing here, trying to _apologize_ to you, and you can’t fucking even look at me! I mean, what else do you want me to fucking do!? I never asked to be here, never _asked_ for you to do all those fucking things! I’m sorry I went into your room and looked through your things, but damn it, _why!?_ Why did you have to make up all that stuff about me!? I mean, you made me look like someone people _cared_ about! Someone who felt _sorry_ about fucking up and could let people in! You have no fucking idea how angry that makes me feel because I _wasn’t_ that person! I wasn’t nice and trying to get better! I was digging myself deeper into my own grave until one day I decided to nail in the coffin behind me!”

Through his ragged breaths, it finally registers to him that there are tears on his face. Connor wipes them away hastily.

“You wanna know the _truth_ , Hansen? The truth about your ‘ _best friend_ ’? I’m _happy_ that you lied. I’m _happy_ that the Connor Project helps people and gives them hope. I’m _happy_ that there is something in this world connected to Connor Murphy that actually makes people _happy_. Because I could never do that for myself.”

The clicks stop.

“So I’m _sorry_ , Hansen. For threatening to kill you and scaring Daisy and all the other ways I’ve fucked up. I’m sorry I called you a freak and pushed you senior year. _God._ It’s my fault you made the project isn’t is? I stole your letter. Shit. Another one of my fuck-ups then. Damn it. I’m sorry. You can’t hear me, but I’ll try to be nice to Daisy in any way I can. It’s the least I can do. She’s already done so much for me. Apologize to Heidi for me, please?”

The man resumes his typing. Nothing. The ghost moves to leave before stopping suddenly.

“ _Sincerely, Me._ ” Connor says quietly, before disappearing through the wall.

* * *

He finds Daisy’s father sitting in the living room, asleep with an opened book in his lap. The novel is Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s _The Little Prince_ , one of Connor’s favorite books. There is a yellowing slip of paper marking the man’s place in the reading. Scribbled on it are ten books, all of them checked off. Atop the list are two little words, written in fading black ink.

 _For Connor_ , it reads.

It’s such a trivial action within the grand scheme of things. It doesn’t change anything, doesn’t make the lie any less corrosive. But Connor sees the word _favorite_ written beside several of the titles and wishes that maybe, _maybe_ , things could have been different. Years ago, two lonely boys walked through the same halls and sat in the same classrooms, never seeking out the other. Now, those same boys are trying their best to reach out to each other.

And in that moment, something finally connects in Connor’s mind.

 

 _(“It turns out, this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing year. Because… why would it be?”_ )

 

The apologies, the twitching, the depression, the anxiety— _all of it_ is _his_ way of hiding the same exact brokenness and darkness that Connor knows so well.

_How did I never notice any of this?_

But Connor has never been good at caring about other people. Or being a friend.

Maybe that’s why he kept the letter. Folded it up instead of throwing it away. Because Connor could never find the words to say that.

The wall crumbles.

They are truly a sad, matched pair, the two of them. A monster and a deceiver, trying to salvage what they can. But they’re _trying_ , and that’s all that matters, right? Quietly, with tears streaming down his face, Connor closes the book before slipping away.

 _Wind, Sand and Stars_ by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, he writes on the note left on Evan’s desk.

_You’ll like this one._

* * *

On a frigid December evening, the first snowfall arrives in Maryland. The sun rises on a pure white blanket, light glistening off millions of little ice crystals.

The family walks outside, bundled up in layers with mist escaping from their lips. Despite the cold wind whistling around them, the shivering trio begins to form the initial components of a snowman.

 

( _“Even when the dark comes crashing through, when you need a friend to carry you… When you’re broken on the ground, you will be found.”_ )

 

Pulling his hood up, Connor hovers over beside Daisy, guiding her hands in smoothing the snow. She giggles, her cheeks red. A few feet from her, Evan and Heidi look for fallen branches and pebbles to decorate the snowman.

Lies are bad. They hurt people. But just like monsters and angels, people need lies just as much as they need the truth.

It’s going to be a good Christmas this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END of Act I


	9. What Came Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> Thank you so much for following along on this crazy journey. I hope you enjoy Act II of Connor's wild ride.
> 
> Sincerely,  
> Me.

Daisy was five years old when February came that year.

Connor doesn’t think he could ever forget what happened.

* * *

“Which one should I get?” Daisy asks aloud, holding two different boxes of cards. The little girl and her father are at the store today, shopping for Valentine’s Day cards and gifts. “I like both of them,” Daisy states, looking over the Spider-Man themed one.

February is an interesting month for Connor. Mainly because of Valentine’s Day. This one little holiday characterizes the entire month—which would be fine if it was a _good_ holiday. While Connor won’t deny that Christmas and Thanksgiving are certainly much more commercialized than they used to be, Valentine’s Day is on a whole other level in his opinion. For a holiday celebrating ‘romance’ and ‘true love’, it excels at being completely plastic and fake. Just as artificial as the flowers and cheap candies you can get in stores.

 

( _Valentine’s Day was one of his least favorite holidays, right after Father’s Day and Mother’s Day. All the flowers and hearts infuriate him. So what, you’re just supposed to pretend that on this one day everything is magically okay and you actually love people?_ )

 

In hindsight, he supposes, maybe he wouldn’t hate Valentine’s Day as much if his past experiences weren’t so negative. But they are, and the worst part is that students don’t even get school off.

At least Daisy seems excited.

“Well, you have to think about the other kids, blossom. Not everyone likes what you like.”

“Oh. Okay.” Daisy hands the boxes back to Evan, who returns them to the shelf. She fiddles with her star necklace—a new Christmas present—as she scans the aisle. “Can I see that one?” she inquires, pointing to a box on the very top shelf. Looking up, Connor sees that the cards inside have pictures of little animals and bad puns. He immediately decides that they’re perfect.

“Good choice.” Connor whispers to Daisy.

With a simple nod, Evan obliges the request. He hands the colorful box to a delighted Daisy.

“Thank you, Daddy.” The little girl smiles.

“You’re welcome, daffodil.” Her father answers.

_Ugh, these people are gonna give me diabetes. Can we go now?_

Thankfully, they only have one more stop in the produce section before checking out and finally getting to leave the store.

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon, Connor watches Daisy and Evan prepare the little Valentines for distribution. The entire interaction, from Evan helping Daisy write down her classmates’ names to Daisy trying and failing to sneak a piece of chocolate from the box, is just adorable.

Because of their inability to focus on the tank at hand, the labeling and sticker-placing takes a lot longer than it should. Still, Daisy and Evan have fun, and the two scurry off to dinner grinning once Heidi calls.

 _Kids_ , Connor mutters to himself, shaking his head. He puts away the abandoned scissors on the table.

_But they’re my stupid kids._

* * *

Despite sitting through a Halloween one and a Winter Holiday one, the Valentine’s Day party still manages to surprise him in some way. For one, it doesn’t actually happen until the near the end of the school day—much to the displeasure of the students. While he does think that forcing children to wait for candy is a bit cruel, Connor can see the wisdom in it. If they had the party earlier in the day, nothing would get done and the kids would be bouncing off the walls with serious sugar highs.

Connor doesn’t think that he could handle fifteen crazy kids and he _definitely_ knows that Mrs. Judy cannot either. So he’s okay with the party being at the end of the day.

But that doesn’t mean the children are.

“Are we getting our candy soon?” Daisy asks during lunch time. Connor’s heard this question way too many times today.

“ _Yes_ , Daisy,” he responds, a touch more aggressive than he should. _Wait._

“But why not now?” The child whines, and _nope we are not doing this_.

“Because that’s the rule.” Connor snaps, before adding, “You don’t wanna break the rules, do you?”

Daisy quickly lets out a hurried “No” and shakes her head.

She doesn’t ask him again for the rest of the day. Looking back, Connor thinks he might have been a little too harsh. Sorry. He’s still figuring how to be nice to people.

After an eternity, the long-awaited time finally comes, and Mrs. Judy hands out brown paper bags. She instructs the children to decorate them, explaining that “the bags are going to be the mailboxes for your cards”. As expected, Daisy draws flowers and stars all over her bag.

Once all the kids are done decorating, Mr. Judy allows them to retrieve their gifts from their cubbies. Connor can feel the pure excitement in the air as the children prepare their candies and cards for distribution.

Though he’s currently intangible, Connor decides that he’s going to watch the action from above. It might be… _safer_ to be above the crowd in this situation.

When the cue is finally given, he’s really glad that he made that decision.

In an instant, the classroom explodes into a whirlwind of children and candy. Connor finds himself slightly perturbed by the sheer speed that the tiny kids zip around the room. It’s almost like a tornado: really interesting to watch despite the chaos everywhere.

After the storm subsides and the children return to their seats, Daisy peers into her bag and examines her stash. The wide grin she gives tells Connor that there’s a ton of chocolate in there. A few trades with Anna make the child’s smile even wider.

Between the gift exchange and the car ride home, Daisy manages to eat five whole peanut butter cups and one vanilla cupcake. By the time they reach the house, she’s already passed out.

There’s an almost knowing smile on Heidi’s face as she tucks the child into bed. The same smile that was on her face this morning when Evan asked her why she requested the day off.

“Sweet dreams, Daisy,” Heidi whispers, replacing a fallen corner of the blanket.

Connor simply laughs.

_I bet she’s not even gonna remember any of this._

* * *

Because of Evan’s and Heidi’s work schedules, the family doesn’t really celebrate Valentine’s Day until the Saturday after. On that day, they get together and have a wonderful little family gathering. Everyone pitches in to help prepare a modest yet delicious dinner and dessert of spaghetti and brownies.

Daisy gives her father and grandmother handmade cards which she may or may not have asked for Connor’s help on. While they are simple little things, the gesture brings smiles to her guardians’ faces.

Though she beams with joy and pride, Connor can’t help but notice the distant expression Daisy gives the empty space at the table.

She made four cards the other day. One for “Nana”, one for “Nori”, one for “Daddy”, and one for “Mommy”.

Once again, Connor finds himself asking: _why?_

* * *

One week after Valentine’s Day, he works up both the courage and curiosity to ask Daisy about her mother. In all honesty, the child is the last person he wants to ask, but she’s the only who can hear him. So limited options.

“Um… Daisy? Can I ask you something?” He begins hesitantly.

“Sure!” The little girl pauses in her coloring to direct her focus entirely on him. “What is it?” she chirps happily.

_Shit. Uh… Fuck._

“Uh… _Um…_ ”

“Connor?”

“ _Canyoupleasepassmethegreencrayonplease?_ ” he sputters.

_Are you serious? What the fuck was that?_

The sound of Daisy’s giggling puts the breaks on his train of self-deprecation. “Oh, Nori! You’re so funny! Here you go!”

As she hands him the crayon, Connor can feel even more of his dignity and self-esteem slipping away.

His current art piece is a detailed value drawing of an airplane. It is entirely in black and white.

_What the hell am I gonna do with a green crayon?_

* * *

There’s only one good thing about Valentine’s Day, Connor thinks as Heidi and Daisy go to the store on a Saturday.

The post-holiday sales on candy.

_Dear lord, YES._

Even though he doesn’t need to eat and is actually incapable of it, he feels a sense of satisfaction when the girls walk out with a bag of discounted mini chocolate bars. Daisy’s stash is now replenished.

Any regret he feels about wasting money on something trivial is immediately snuffed out when he sees both Heidi and Evan snatching a couple bars from the bag.

_Ah, sugar. The source of so many sins in our society. Enjoy!_

When Daisy catches her father in the act, Connor laughs for what must be a solid ten minutes. He laughs even longer when Evan calls out his own mother in front of his child.

* * *

Sunday night. One of the worst times of the week simply because Monday—and thus school and work—are just a few hours away. Like any good student, Daisy is already fast asleep in bed, most likely dreaming of trees and flowers.

Far from tired or sleepy, Connor leaves the child alone with her dreams, electing to instead wander through the house. In the nine— _eight?_ —months since they’ve met, Connor has discovered that the walls of the house are thin enough that some noises will carry through. It’s a little invasive, he thinks. But helpful for watching over a five-year old. He’s been doing a lot more listening lately.

“ _—my god_ . How are you? I haven’t heard from you in so long… _Is everything okay?_ ”

An anxious voice cuts through the evening silence. Connor peeks around the corner.

_Evan Hansen, on the phone late at night? Stop the presses!_

“I’m so glad… How, uh… How are your parents?”

_Who are you even talking to? I’m pretty sure the garden shop is already closed._

“Are you, um…” Evan stammers, wiping a palm on his shirt. A blush is breaking out across his entire face.  “ _Seeing_ someone?”

_Wait, wait, WAIT. Are you talking to a girl, Hansen?_

Pink becomes a full-on cherry red. “ _I’msorrythatwasweird, ha ha…_ ”

_Holy shit. You fucking are._

“So, um, anyways…” Evan digresses, hopefully switching to a less awkward subject. A beat. “How’s the musical therapist job going?”

_Real smooth there. Y’know, props to the girl for staying on the line._

“ _Jazz?_ ” Evan exclaims. A voice crack. Connor winces.

_Hansen. Stop. Seriously. Oh my god._

Some of Evan’s blush subsides. “Well, you were the guitar player…” he mentions casually.

_Isn’t that nice? Don’t screw up again, Hansen._

There is a long silence before Evan speaks again. Someone must have a lot to say, Connor thinks. Suddenly, Evan’s expression changes to one of pride and joy.

“She’s doing amazing. She just started kindergarten, and she already loves it. Her favorite things to do are drawing and gardening, but she’s been singing a lot recently. Mom, uh _Heidi_ , got her one of those little karaoke machines for Christmas, and she’s been using it a ton.”

_Weird choice of subject matter, but sure. Talk about your daughter. That’s… a thing people do, right?_

Evan shifts the phone from his left hand to his right hand. “She loves the necklace you got her,” he continues.

_Necklace? Wait…_

 

( _“Who’s this one from, Daddy?”_ )

( _“This gift is very special, clover. It’s from Mommy.”_ )

 

_Evan, are you talking to Daisy’s—_

“I gave her the letter you wrote. She, uh… She _cried_ when she read it. _She…_ ” Evan stutters. His voice cracks again, but there’s mist in his eyes and Connor can feel reality starting to blur around him. Oh no. The mist condenses into tears. “She asked when you’re coming home.”

_No. No no no no no…_

There’s a voice still talking, but the words seem to flicker in and out. Connor steps backward. Oh god. “And I understand why you did it and I forgive you, but I don’t know what to do anymore! I had to lie because I don’t know what else to tell her!”

_Shit, why do I keep doing this? Never mind, I need to… I need to leave. Shit._

“When are you coming back, _Zoe?_ ”

Connor’s eyes snap open. His dead heart skips a beat.

 _No._ No way. He’s just talking about some other girl, some other woman who just happens to share her name. There are plenty of people named that. Who also happen to play guitar and jazz. Maybe that’s Evan’s type: girls who play jazz on guitar. Evan’s sure to have written weird letters about other people too, right? This is all just one big coincidence. Just one big fat fucking coincidence.

It can’t be _her_ . It just _can’t_.

But everything fits so _perfectly_ into place that Connor runs into the shadows and _screams_.


	10. Come and Gone

( _“Connor look at the toy Daddy got me! Isn’t it cool?”_ )

 

( _“No! Get out!”_ )

 

( _“Connor come play with me.”_ )

 

( _“Fuck off, jerk!”_ )

 

( _“I love you so much!”_ )

 

( _“I wish you that weren’t my brother!”_ )

* * *

It was a September day when Connor Murphy took his life.

The sky was dark and gray, a light breeze rustling the leaves. It feels colder than it should be, and he wraps his arms around himself, frowning at the raindrops.

He wants to go to a more remote part of the park, a place where no one will find him. But as the wind suddenly picks up, making him shiver, he decides to indulge in one last trivial luxury.

Walking under a large tree, he takes off his bag and sits down. This spot will be fine.

The overcast sky provides him little light to work with. His hands fumble with the zipper on his bag, but he manages to retrieve the two bottles.

He’s always had trouble swallowing pills dry, and so he needs the water for this to be successful.

Looking around, he sees that this part of the park is filled with trees. For a moment, he remembers another forest, one filled with apple trees, and something like _regret_ flickers inside of him.

Drawing in a breath, he opens the stolen bottle. The little orange and white pills stare back at him, and he grabs his water bottle with a quivering hand.

It’s cold.

He takes as many handfuls as he can, wincing as he swallows. _One, two, three._ His vision begins to blur, the world swaying back and forth as he tries to blink back into focus. Everything feels distant and close at the same time. The bottles fall from his shaking hands, both of them empty.

The pain throughout his body is overwhelming, and each breath is becoming more and more difficult. He forces his eyes open, straining to look at the world just one more time.

As the light begins to disappear and reality goes dark, Connor wishes that he could see the sunset from here.

Sucking in one last breath, he lets his head fall back against the trunk of the tree. His eyes finally slip closed.

It doesn’t feel cold anymore.

* * *

They wait for her on a chilly Saturday morning. The sky is dotted with clouds, sunlight stealing through the cracks.

Evan sits stone still on the metal bench as Daisy fidgets with the black drawstrings on her hoodie beside him.

Connor stares at the two people, each engulfed with dynamically different emotions, with blank eyes. If his dead heart wasn’t so numb, he might laugh at the irony of it all. God.

Why did they have to come _here_ of all places? _This_ place, where they played and laughed and had fun? It is _his_ place, _his_ orchard— _his_ , _his_ , _HIS_ —and _she_ shouldn’t be allowed to _ruin_ it by coming here.

As the sound of his quickening breaths fill the silent air, Connor reaches up to wipe away the water on his face. He shoves his quivering hands into his pockets and forces himself to stand. Hesitantly, he peeks out from behind the tree and looks into the clearing.

She is wearing a black sweater and jeans. A gray beanie lays atop of a head of long blond hair. There are black combat boots covering her feet.

He wants to write her off as any average girl. Just another face in the crowd with no connection or value to him at all. No one he recognizes. A nobody. He doesn’t know her and doesn’t want to know her. _No._ But he sees the star-patterned scarf that he gave her years ago and reality collapses on top of him.

The woman in the clearing that Daisy runs up to is Zoe Murphy. His little sister and Daisy’s mother.

In the shadows of an apple tree, he slips into the darkness once again. There is fire and ice inside of him, and he doesn’t know which one hurts more.

* * *

His sister drives the same car that she drove in high school. The same car that parked in the driveway and threatened to leave without him. Evan straps the car seat inside so that Daisy can ride home with her mother.

When the family— _his family_ —gathers around a table, Connor stands off to the side in the shadows. The meal begins contentiously, Heidi’s lightly-cloaked bitterness thickening the atmosphere in the room. But several minutes in, precious, _innocent_ Daisy begins to _talk_. Out of nowhere, she shares stories about school and playdates with Anna. She rambles on about fun trips she’s been on and asks questions about if there is such a thing as a sea unicorn. And suddenly, the tension in the room gets a little bit lighter. Laughter erupts from the table after Daisy tells a joke, and Connor sees a smile—subtle and real—on his sister’s face.

The sight of the family— _your, it’s yours_ —talking and laughing sends something like pain shooting through Connor’s chest. He blinks, attempting to clear the water out of his eyes.

Daisy opens her mouth again, but he doesn’t understand what she is saying. Every word sounds like an echo, traveling from the other end of a tunnel. Panic setting in, Connor rushes to tie the fraying threads back together, but his chaotic emotions sever every knot he makes.

Slowly and suddenly, despite every attempt he makes, Connor feels himself drifting away. He’s starting to feel numb because a family is getting along and having fun together. And he’s dissolving, losing his very grip on reality, because the laughing people at the table are _his_. But they can’t be. There are no funny stories or little red foxes at his dinner table. No corny jokes or cringy puns. And no little sister who just smiles because someone made her happy.

Daisy shivers. Evan reaches an arm around her, a concerned expression on his face. Heidi gets up, muttering something about a cold draft that won’t go away.

Connor blinks. It’s time for him to go. He’s not part of this, and he never will be. With sadness, joy, and anger in his heart, he hovers out of the room.

They may be his family, but he isn’t ready to accept them as such. He’s still trying to remember how to love her.

His sister leaves in a week.

* * *

**_Dear Zoe Murphy,_ **

****

**_So much has happened in these past years. The two of us have certainly changed. In some ways for the better and in some ways for the worse. Though, if we’re being honest, I’d say all the negative change is on my part._ **

**_Ha ha._ **

**_Anyways, I just wanted to tell some things while you’re here. I know I don’t deserve any of your attention, but I just need to tell you this._ **

**_I’m sorry for everything. I know you probably don’t believe me, but I promise you, I am. I’ve watched myself fuck up everything. And the worst part is that I KNEW that I was hurting people and yet I kept going. God, I fucking hate myself._ **

**_Sorry, I shouldn’t be doing that. Making you feel like shit. I did enough of that when I was still alive._ **

**_I know you hate me. And it’s okay. I don’t expect anyone to mourn me, and I don’t want anyone to mourn me. I wasn’t a person worth feeling sad for. I was a crazy psychopath hooked on drugs who just fucked up everything he touched. I was a monster who pounded on your door and threatened to kill you._ **

**_You know what’s funny? I thought the drugs would make me less crazy. In hindsight, I guess that’s what all those medications were for, but we both know I was never good at following directions. The only thing the drugs did was distract me from the guilt of what I did for a while._ **

**_God. I’m such a fucking mess, aren’t I?_ **

**_Dad always yelled at me for being selfish, and maybe he was right. I mean, he wasn’t completely right; he could have been less of a dick and more supportive. But he and Mom were trying. And yeah, maybe I could have tried harder too._ **

**_People say that suicide is selfish. That it hurts everyone you leave behind. Obviously, those people haven’t met me, because everything is better with me gone. I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I can’t. At the very least, I’m sad that I couldn’t do better while I was alive. That I broke our family and fucked up any chance you had at a normal childhood._ **

**_I know what I did. And I know how you feel about me. So consider it my final act as your big brother—the one who played with you at the orchard and shared ice cream with you—to wish you all the best. I hope you and Mom and Dad can finally find happiness now that I’m gone. At least I can give that to you._ **

**_Good luck. I’m so sorry for everything. Tell Mom and Dad please._ **

****

**_Sincerely, your once best and most dearest friend,_ **

**_Connor Murphy_ **


	11. Reach Out

Even months after awakening, the memories still haunt him. He supposes that the circumstances of and leading up to his death are reason enough to explain why things like apples and stars and medication make him uncomfortable.

 

( _ It was a busy time for Evan. Between work, the icy weather, and his family, he was being stretched thin. It was inevitable that the constantly working man—he never complained, never—came down with a cold. The illness was far from major, but it was bad enough that Heidi pushed Evan to take a sick day and some medicine. Connor remembers the confrontation between the two, Heidi politely and firmly telling her son that it was okay to take a break. But then she hands Evan a bottle of medicine and something sharp and cold rakes across Connor’s chest. Pills. A tree. Cold. N-No, Evan don’t, they love you, they need— _ )

 

Connor forces a breath into his chest, ending the flashback. God, is he so messed up that he can’t even  _ think _ without his brain falling apart? 

He returns his gaze to the scene on the other side of the doorway.

The memory currently plaguing his mind surfaced just recently, emerging once he mustered up the courage to look at his sister again. Connor was staring at her shoes when he suddenly recalls in horrifying detail a day long ago. He nearly falls.

 

( _It hadn’t been a good day. The other students were talking shit about him—as usual—and he couldn’t deal with it. So near the end of lunch, he snuck out the back door and lit a joint. And then another. It was simply bad luck that he forgot that his sister didn’t have band practice that day, and he was supposed to drive her home._ _He recalls vividly the way her face had fallen slightly before hardening into familiar anger. “I’ll take the bus!” she had yelled, her new white shoes stomping on the pavement. “I hope you’re happy, you fucking jerk!”)_

 

Years later, Connor wishes that he could go back and rewind everything. But on that day, he watched her walk away, turning briefly to shout at her retreating figure.

 

( _ “Fuck you, Zoe!” _ )

( _ “Yeah well, fuck you too, Connor!”) _

 

He tries to lock the memory away. Back in the vault where it belongs. But this memory refuses to be ignored. Zoe’s face, so upset and angry, stares at him every minute, her stormy eyes giving way to tears.

He never did apologize to her.

She got her driver’s license a week later.

* * *

It is a cool March day. Connor sits on a chair in Daisy’s room, trying not to get lost in his thoughts.

Today is one of the rare occasions that he has woken up before Daisy. And for once, he doesn’t feel like scaring her awake. He doesn’t feel like doing anything, really.

“I’m going out,” someone says outside. The voice is female. 

In a split second, Connor is in the hallway.

“Where are you going?” Evan asks. Though his words are intended as an innocent question, Connor can hear the anger and fear in the man’s voice. He’s blocking her way to the front door.

“I have to return something. To the library.”

A beat passes. Evan doesn’t move, and she simply stands there, shifting with a bag on her shoulder.

Something unrecognizable flickers on Evan’s face, before being covered up with a hasty smile. “ _ Oh. _ Well, if you’re going there, why don’t you bring Daisy with you? She loves going to the library, and I’m sure you two will have—”

“I took my brother’s hoodie,” his sister suddenly interjects, hands quivering.

There is a deafening silence.

“ _...What? _ ” Connor whispers, shock in his voice. Evan looks at Daisy’s mother with disbelief.

“ _ I— _ ” she stumbles. “I took his…  _ Connor’s _ hoodie. Years ago. I...” His sister pauses, drawing in a breath. The threads are coming apart again. “When we were younger, we told each other everything. We talked about everything. And I-I mean we were just kids, but we  _ trusted _ each other, and now I wonder if I had just  _ talked _ to him then maybe he wouldn’t have—”

“ _ Zoe… _ ” Evan cuts in, stepping forward. 

“And I know that your letter wasn’t his, but I realized that he was trying to  _ talk _ to me and I was  _ pushing _ him away and  _ it’s _ —”

His sister’s next words are muted by Evan’s arms wrapping around her. “ _ Zoe _ . It’s  _ okay _ .” He pulls her in closer, his own eyes blurring with tears. “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault.”

“ _ I’m sorry, I’m so sorry... _ ” She whispers into Evan’s chest, voice unsteady. She’s shaking.

Across the room, Connor forces a breath in. His sister is  _ hurt _ —his little, smiling sister—and as a big brother he should do something to help her. But it has been a lifetime since they considered themselves siblings.

“ _ N-No. I-I can’t... _ ” 

Terrified and unsure of what to do, Connor rushes out of the room, fleeing up to the rooftop.    
Twenty minutes later, his sister’s car backs out of the driveway. He watches her go before returning to Daisy’s room, pulling at the end of his chain to see disappear around the corner. 

Even in death, all he ever does is run.

_ But how do become someone you forgotten how to be? _

* * *

When his sister comes back, her stance is stiff, and her eyes are tinged with red. Evan and Daisy come up to her, the younger one smiling and asking if they can all play together now.

On the day she arrived, she told them that she booked a room in a nearby hotel. She explained that she didn’t want to add any more unnecessary burden on Evan’s family. Connor thinks she’s a terrible liar. 

_ Just tell the truth. You’re staying at Mom and Dad’s house. _

With sunset approaching, Evan offers to let her sleep in his room for the night. Zoe refuses at first, but Evan insists with nothing but kindness in his voice, and she relents, a tired, grateful smile on her face.

As the kingdom falls asleep and the monsters come out to play, Connor drifts into the hallway. Her door is closed, but he can still hear her crying on the other side. Drawing in a breath, he places a shaking hand on the door and lets it phase through. When he finally gets inside the room, he sees her sleeping fitfully in bed, tear tracks on her face. The sheets are strewn about, and she’s clutching at a pillow, her arms wrapped around it.

 

( _ When they were younger, the two of them would have sleepovers. Sometimes in her room, sometimes in his. She’d bring her stuffed unicorn and he would bring his softest pillow. Every night before they fell asleep, they would watch the breeze rustle the wind chimes and plan about all the adventures they’ll have together. _ )

 

They were things taken without permission. A bottle of black nail polish and an old gray hoodie. Rather than asking for permission, they were begging for forgiveness.

His heart is racing, and he has no idea what he’s doing, but wants to— _ needs to _ —try. For himself, and most importantly,  _ her _ . Walking up to the bed, he gently places the fallen blanket back over his little sister. “Keep it. You can wear it with the scarf I gave you.” He whispers, like a soft lullaby in the night. But his sister curls up as small as she can, still plagued by memories and what-ifs. And in that moment, the light inside Connor finally turns back on.

Laying down in the bed, he rests his hand on Zoe’s shoulder. Slowly, delicately, he starts to rub her back just like he did when they were kids. Zoe can’t hear him—can’t see him—but she needs a reminder that she’s not alone. Gradually, she begins to ease into a more comfortable position, her breath steadying and her form relaxing.

Things aren’t okay. She still feels guilty and he still hasn’t forgiven himself. But being together like this, like a sleepover between two happy children, makes everything feel a little less painful.


	12. We Start With Stars

Connor wakes up the next morning with his hand still resting on Zoe’s shoulder. The sun streams through the window, cascading gently onto the bed. Hesitantly, Connor moves his hand away from his sister and peers over her shoulder. She looks so peaceful sleeping there, so small and young curled up in the blankets beside him, and he doesn’t want to disturb her.

He wishes they could stay like this forever, the two of them just lying in bed on a lazy Wednesday morning. But he’s learned to stop wishing a lifetime ago.

Daisy will be wondering where he is.

Carefully, Connor slips out of the bed, mindful not to wake Zoe. Phasing through the door, he hovers down the hall and goes into the next room. He finds his niece still asleep in bed, snoring softly with Rose in her arms.

Connor smiles. Adjusting the blanket on the bed, he turns away and heads towards the kitchen.

Heidi is already awake, as usual. She’s adjusting the temperature of the griddle, and Connor realizes that she’s making pancakes. At the counter, Evan slices strawberries in half. There is a pot of coffee brewing in the corner, and the mother and son are making simple small talk.

The entire scene is so perfectly stereotypical that Connor floats over the counter and plops down. Since he can’t really help, he’s resigned to simply waiting for the rest of the family, watching Evan arrange the strawberries onto four plates.

In hindsight, he reflects, he could have gone back to Daisy’s room and told her about breakfast. Oh well. He isn’t perfect.

Zoe comes ambling into the kitchen about ten minutes later, the tear stains gone, and her hair tied into a messy bun. She gives a quiet but sincere “good morning” before pouring a cup of coffee and sitting down. Five minutes after, the youngest member of the family strolls into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“G’morning.” The little girl says sleepily, dragging herself into a chair. She blinks a couple times before realization sets in on her face. “Are we having _chocolate_ _pancakes?_ ” she asks, suddenly alert.

Heidi laughs. “Yes, honey. We are. And we have a plate waiting for you right here.” She confirms, presenting a platter of pancakes lathered with syrup in front of Daisy.

The child eyes the food hungrily but does not move. She looks at her grandmother and father, conflicted.

With an understanding smile on his face, Evan gets up and set the bowl of strawberries down on the table. He takes the three other plates of pancakes and placing them in front of his other family members. “Alright, Daisy. We all have our food. You can eat now.”

Daisy wastes no time in following her father’s words. Connor blinks as she instantly tears into the stack of breakfast food.

_Geez, Daisy. Chill out! You’re gonna choke!_

“Daisy, _please_ slow down.”

_Thank you, Zoe._

“So…” Evan begins, glancing around the table. Zoe gives the slightest nod when he looks at her. Thank you, her eyes say. The tiniest of smiles appears on Evan’s face. They’re okay.

“What would you like…” Evan pauses, staring as his daughter as she shovels a cartoonishly large piece of pancake into her mouth. Heidi and Zoe both stop eating.

_That… Wow… I don’t know if I should be impressed or just weirded out. You must really love chocolate pancakes, Daisy, ‘cause this is just… Oh my god, did you seriously eat half of that entire stack already?_

“ _Daisy_ ,” Heidi states, placing her utensils down. “ _Manners, please._ ”

At the sound of her grandmother’s voice, the child pauses in her ravenous eating. “Sorry,” the child squeaks. She pushes her plate towards Heidi, looking sheepish. “Could you cut it for me?”

Heidi sighs quietly, a vaguely amused grin on her face, before reaching over to cut her grandchild’s pancakes into more manageable morsels. “There you go, honey.”

“Thank you.”

There is a comfortable silence in the conversation as everyone resumes eating. Connor shifts on the counter, listening to the familiar sound of clinking silverware and plates.

Evan takes the opportunity to speak up again.

“What would you like to do today, Daisy?” He asks warmly. “Do you want to go to somewhere?”

The child wipes her mouth with a napkin, trying fruitlessly to get the syrup off her face. Connor thinks she’s adorable. “Can I play with Mommy today?” she requests. “Please?”

Evan shares a quick look with Zoe before answering. He smiles. “Of course, bluebell. But you have to brush your teeth and wash your face first, okay?”

“Okay!”

* * *

Daisy is practically bursting with joy as she leads Zoe to her room. Connor smiles, floating in behind them. The child is speaking a mile a minute, telling her mother what games they could play or what activities they could do. Zoe smiles, a perfect arch that makes Connor’s chest feel light, and she tells Daisy that she can choose what they’ll do today.

It doesn’t surprise him that the activity that Daisy selects for today is drawing. The child loves doodling and coloring almost as much as she loves plants.

“Do you wanna see some of my pictures?” Daisy asks, voice bright and hopeful.

Zoe smiles. “I would love to.” She replies. Her daughter runs to the other side of the room.

She doesn’t go to the shelf as Connor expects. Instead, Daisy scurries to her toy chest and starts digging. After a few seconds, she takes out a faded and bent folder that Connor has never seen before.

“I made these for you,” the child declares, placing the bulging folder delicately on the table. Slowly—gently—she opens the file.

Inside the worn folder are dozens of pictures, each one unique. Some are on printer paper, others on construction paper. One is not even on a sheet of paper at all; rather, the art decorates a paper plate. There is little similarity in the portfolio; even the medium differs from piece to piece. The only things that connect the disjointed body of work are a scribbled signature and two figures—one short and the other tall.

“Do you like them?” Daisy asks a minute later. She suddenly sounds so small. So unsure and scared.

Without hesitation, Zoe pulls her daughter in for an embrace. “ _I love them,_ ” she announces. Though her eyes are misty, there is unmistakable pride shining in them. “ _They’re beautiful. Thank you._ ”

Daisy grins. “You’re welcome, Mommy.”

Wiping away his tears, Connor quietly phases into the hall. This is their moment.

* * *

Connor accompanies Evan as he makes his way to Daisy’s room. Lunch is almost ready, and Evan wants to give the mother and daughter a heads-up.

Hesitantly, Evan knocks. And promptly blushes and walks in.

Daisy never closed the door.

Connor facepalms.

_You’re killing me, Evan. And that’s not even physically possible anymore._

“ _H-Hey_ ,” Hansen begins, trying and failing to cover his screw-up. Was that a voice crack? “It’s uh, time for lunch.”

Zoe has the courtesy not to say anything. She almost seems _familiar_ with Evan’s unique anxiousness, and Connor _definitely_ does _not_ want to think about _why_. Some things are just not intended for mortal eyes. Or quick-tempered older brothers with ghost powers who will not hesitate to castrate someone.

“Okay. Thanks.” Zoe responds. Evan nods and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him. His face is red.

Connor simply shakes his head, sighing quietly. He returns his focus to the two people at the table. Daisy pauses in her coloring, an pensive look unexpectedly appearing on her face.

“Is there something wrong, Daisy?” Zoe inquires. “You look like you’re thinking about something.”

“ _Oh!_ Yeah.” Daisy answers, slightly startled. “Do you have any siblings?” she asks innocently, looking expectantly at her mother.

Zoe blinks. The crayon falls out of her hand. Behind her, Connor stares.

_Daisy. Out of everything you could have asked, why did you have to ask that?_

His dead heart beginning to race, Connor quickly checks on his sister. Her expression is indistinguishable.

“I had a brother.” Zoe announces after a few seconds. Connor panics.

“Really?” Daisy asks, sounding so innocent and excited. _Oh no._ “Is he cool?”

There is a brief silence after Daisy speaks. Connor feels like he’s suffocating. There’s a half-smile on Zoe’s face.

“He was one of the coolest people I knew,” his sister states quietly. _What?_ “He told jokes all the time. When we were younger, we’d have sleepovers all the time. Sometimes we’d eat an entire jar of candy, and our parents would get so mad. But he didn’t care. He always did what he wanted and didn’t care what anyone thought. I guess that makes him pretty cool, doesn’t it?”

_What the fuck are you saying, you hated me, you’re lying, you’re LYING—_

“Is he coming to visit too?” Daisy asks. Her voice is so full of light that Connor feels like he’s burning. No. _No no no NO NO—_

“ _No._ ” Zoe states, after a moment. There is mist in her eyes.

“Why not?” The child questions, and the entire world just _stops_.

Connor scrambles for a lie.

_Zoe, don’t! She’s five! She shouldn’t have to know those kinds of things! Please! Don’t say it!_

Slowly, Zoe turns to her daughter, eyes filled with shadow. “He died. Seven years ago. He… He can’t visit because he’s _gone,_ and he isn’t coming back.”

A confused look appears on Daisy’s face, and Connor can hear his heart shatter into a million pieces.

“Oh. But he can call us, right? Like you did with me and Daddy?”

The dam finally breaks, and tears begin flowing from Zoe’s eyes. Below them lays a broken arch, bittersweet and painful. “You know what happens when a flower isn’t watered and given sunlight for a long time? How it wilts and falls apart? Death is like that. My brother didn’t get enough water and sunlight and so he wilted and fell apart.


	13. The Grieving Girl

Daisy is not the same after Wednesday. She never will be. Death has finally come into her world, and everything is suddenly a little darker. In one conversation, his perfect light has stepped off a cliff towards adulthood. Connor wants to hug her, tell her he’s _here_ , your uncle _CAME,_ and _he loves you_. But then he sees his hands, semitransparent and flickering, and flinches back as if he’s been burned.

Daisy has no uncles. Ghosts don’t count.

It was a mistake, he realizes now. Not an escape, not something to help his family. A _mistake_.

As he watches Zoe cry and Evan attempt to cheer up his daughter, Connor feels something twisting his chest tight. He finally recognizes it as _regret_.

* * *

It is a Friday morning. The sun shines on a clear day, warming the land from the chill of night. With school and work resuming the following Monday, the days of spring vacation are nearly gone. Zoe will be leaving in two days, back to New York and routines.

On this perfect, sunny day, Daisy sits inside her room. Her fingers are curled around a crayon, but the paper in front of her is empty.

“Um...” Connor begins. His voice sounds too loud, too inappropriate, in the silence of Daisy’s room. “Dai—”

The door suddenly moves, cutting Connor off and making him flinch. His head whips up to look at the doorway. Evan, Heidi, and Zoe are standing there.

“Sunflower?” Evan asks quietly. “Can we talk to you?”

The child does not react at all to her father’s words. Evan and Zoe begin to step into their daughter’s room, before a hand stops him.

“ _Daisy_ ,” Heidi says, kneeling down beside her granddaughter. The little girl still doesn’t respond. Blinking, Heidi places her hand on Daisy’s arm. “Have you ever heard of something called a cemetery?” she asks.

Daisy finally moves, turning to her grandmother. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused. “N-No,” the child answers. She sounds distant, as if her mind is somewhere else.

Connor feels water begin to pool in his eyes. He didn’t think he had any tears left.

“Well...” Heidi begins. “When someone dies, their body stops working. But it’s still there. So, in order to honor and remember that person, their family will bury their body in a place called a cemetery. That way, everyone can visit and make sure that the person is never forgotten.”

Heidi wipes her eyes. Connor doesn’t understand why. She doesn’t like Zoe, and she never even knew him.

“Would you like to visit your uncle at the cemetery?” Heidi asks softly.

The child nods. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

* * *

It’s been a lifetime since he’s been to a cemetery. The last time he went, it was his grandfather’s funeral and his whole family was there. Despite the sadness all around him, he doesn’t remember ever shedding a tear.

He was a child then. And he didn’t know the man lying motionlessly in the ground.

But then again, neither does Daisy.

When Connor gets out of the car, he can’t stop the laugh that tears out of his mouth. It is a hollow, pained sound that reverberates across the tombstones.

He’s buried in the same fucking cemetery as his grandfather.

* * *

“Here we are. This is where he’s buried.” His sister announces, after they’ve been walking for an eternity. Her voice sounds rigid and detached.

The grave is situated towards the back of the cemetery, in a family plot marked by a larger stone. The grass has grown in fully over the spot, not an inch of soil to be seen. There are pink carnations resting against the tombstone, and Connor knows that his mother placed them there.

The family comes to a stop near the headstone, taking a moment to take it in. Connor looks down along with them, allowing himself to read the inscription in the granite.

 

**Connor Michael Murphy**

**1998 - 2015**

**A great son and wonderful friend**

 

“Hi Uncle," Daisy begins hesitantly. She stares at the headstone, shuffling her feet. “I came to meet you today. I’m Denise. But everyone calls me Daisy.”

There is a lull after the little girl speaks. The silence of the cold stone is deafening enough.

Seeing her grandmother’s hand encouraging her on, Daisy continues.

“Um… I’m sorry that it took me so long to come and visit you. I didn’t know about you until Wednesday. I'm sorry.”

Carefully, the child places a pot of white and gold daisies by the headstone.

“They’re daisies,” the little girl explains. “Um… Me and Daddy were the ones who planted them so now you’ll always a piece of us with you. You don’t have to worry about them wilting and falling apart because daisies don’t need much care and I put them in a pot. I, um, hope you like them, Uncle. I’ll come back soon.”

Her gift given, Daisy steps back from the headstone and joins the rest of her family. She takes her grandmother’s hand before turning to her mother.

“Mommy?” she asks softly. “Do you wanna talk to Uncle?”

Zoe looks startled for a split second before drawing in a breath. “Y-Yeah.” She takes a few steps towards the tombstone, before suddenly stopping and turning back around. “Could I… talk to him alone please?”

The response is a small nod from Evan. Nodding, he ushers the rest of the group away. “We’ll wait by the car.” Evan states, understanding in his eyes, before turning to leave.

Connor feels nothing as his anchor walks away. His vision is clear, and he can’t move. Not now. Not yet.

Zoe’s steps are soundless as walks up to her brother’s headstone. Kneeling down on the grass, she runs her fingers along the etching.

“Hey, Con.” She whispers, her voice soft and warm. Connor doesn’t recall the last time she spoke to him with anything other than bitterness and frustration. He barely remembers her nickname for him.

“I thought it would be a nice time to come and say hello. The weather’s nice out today for once. Sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’ve been kinda busy.” Zoe pauses, wiping her eyes with a sleeve. A smile attempts to form on her face, but it falls apart halfway there. “That little girl who came to visit you: she’s your niece. My daughter. You would have liked her. She loves drawing and jokes and reading. Daisy lives with Evan, but we, uh, aren’t married.”

His sister shakes her head, a broken half-smile on her face. “It’s a long story. But don’t worry. Evan’s nice. He and his mom raised Daisy all by themselves while I was gone. I’m really grateful to them for that. I know you’re probably still mad at him because of the Connor Project, but he’s really great once you get to know him.”

A beat of silence passes by. Connor stands completely still as his sister fumbles for what to say. They are both crying now, two kindred souls grieving over what cannot be taken back. Zoe wipes her eyes again, drawing in a deep breath. Delicately, she places a single, dark pink rose on the headstone.

“I returned your hoodie. I _know_ , I shouldn’t have taken it without asking. But I was scared, and wearing that hoodie reminded me of those sleepovers we had when we were kids. Remember? I’d give anything to relive those times. We’d play together and tell stories just like before. Then when we get into middle school, I’ll make the right choice. I’ll be more supportive and talk to you. I’ll tell Mom and Dad that you’re trying your best and push them to get you the help you need. And then you’d get better and we’ll go into high school together. And then I’ll be the loudest person at your graduation and you’ll go to college and—”

Zoe’s voice suddenly cuts off. Her tear-filled eyes are wide, and she’s staring out across the cemetery.  

“I…” she laughs. It is a resigned, self-deprecating sound that makes Connor hurt inside. “I’m sorry. I know it’s too late and wishing isn’t going to bring you back, but I just… need to tell you that. I know I wasn’t perfect and neither were you, but I feel like this is my fault. I miss you, Connor. You should be here with us, teaching Daisy how to draw and Evan how to be funny. I’m so sorry that I didn’t try and help you.”

Slowly, Zoe bends over to kiss the headstone. She lets her hand rest on top of the granite as she stands, like a handshake farewell. “I have to go now. I’ll be back soon, I promise. Daisy still has so many questions about you, and I think it’s good for her to get to know her uncle. She only has one, don’t cha know?” Zoe whispers, her tears finally slowing. “I know it didn’t seem like it before you died, but I love you Connor. I wish I could have shown you that more. See you later.”

Lifting her hand, Zoe finally turns and starts walking, towards the car and the rest of her family. Connor remains behind at the headstone, watching her leave. He turns to cast one final glance at his own grave, the carnations, rose, and daisies resting by the cold stone.

“I love you too, Zoe.”

Drying his eyes, Connor walks out of the cemetery and back to his family. He doesn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daisies symbolize innocence and purity  
> Pink carnations represent a mother's enduring love  
> Dark pink roses mean appreciation and gratitude


	14. All I See

Grief takes many forms. Sometimes it is a like a riptide, pulling you away from the shore. Other times, it is like a giant wave, crashing suddenly on top of you and destroying the castles you’ve built. But the thing about tides is that there are highs and lows. And some days aren’t as bad as others. 

Hovering off to the side, Connor watches Evan fiddle with the remote control. Daisy bounces with excitement beside him. 

“Hey, Daddy? Can I try?” She inquires. Evan hands her the remote. The child looks at the device with a confused look, before Connor floats over to her.

“Try moving the left stick up. The right one is to steer.” He instructs Daisy.

Five seconds later, the new toy plane is soaring in the sky, above Daisy’s cheers and Evan’s blushing face. Connor smiles, watching the plane and relaying instructions to his niece.

A voice calls out from across the field. “Alright, flying aces! Why don’t you come in for a landing, so we can finally eat?” 

“I’m not hungry yet, Nana!”

“What a shame. I guess I’ll have to eat all these _delicious_ , _chocolate chip_ _cookies_ by myself then...”

“H-Hey,  _ wait! _ We’re coming!”

In an instant, Daisy races towards the picnic blanket. Evan comes walking up behind her, the blue and white plane clutched in his hand. Grinning, Connor drifts after the two.

As the family reclines on the blanket, Heidi begins to hand out the sandwiches and apples, pausing only to swat away Daisy’s hand when she tries to steal a cookie. Evan smiles in spite of himself. 

“ _ Psst! _ Hey, Nori! Could you give me cookie, please?” 

Connor doesn’t know if this is going to be a good year. There are too many apologies left to say, too many wounds left open and in need of healing. But there’s a little bit of light that the family has rekindled despite everything, and Connor thinks that maybe, _maybe_ , that’s all he needs. So much is changing—Daisy will be finishing kindergarten in two weeks and Zoe will be moving back in town—and he thinks that it might be for the better.

Maybe someday, everything that happened will feel like a distant memory. Maybe someday, Zoe and Evan will make him think of his future and not his past. Maybe someday, he’ll be able to visit his parents and forgive himself for all his mistakes—even his most terrible one. 

A gust of wind blows through the trees, rustling the leaves and perfuming the air with the scent of apple blossoms. Connor looks up, smiling into the blue summer sky.

* * *

**_Dear Connor Murphy,_ **

 

**_Today is going to be an amazing day and here’s why. Because today, above all else, you spent time with your family who loves you. Who remembers, supports, and cares about you in spite of everything you’ve done. No pretending or lying. Just the real you, in all your angry, fucked up glory. And that’s enough._ **

**_You’re going to have bad days. And sometimes you’re going to feel like you’re back under that tree, the two bottles in your hands. But in that moment, when everything feels hopeless and you want to let go, think of two little girls who love you and hold on._ **

**_It’s going to get better. I promise._ **

 

**_Sincerely, your best and most dearest friend,_ **

**_Me._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> When I first began this story, I had no idea what I was doing. This was my first time writing something like this, and I honestly didn't know if I was even going to see this through to the end. There was times where I struggled to keep writing and I wondered if what I had was any good. When I finally posted this story, I had no idea what to expect.
> 
> Considering all this, I am extremely grateful to everyone for joining me on this journey. Thank you so much for every hit, kudos, and comment. I cannot thank you enough for everything!
> 
> Sincerely, your best and most grateful author,
> 
> Me


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